


The ragged edge of the world

by devilscut



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, BAMF Sheriff Stilinski, Blow Jobs, Come Marking, Deputy Derek Hale, Dom/sub Undertones, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Facials, Falling In Love, Felching, Frottage, Grief/Mourning, Hand Jobs, House Fires, John is good for Derek, M/M, Masturbation, Mating Bites, Mentioned Kate Argent, Nightmares, Oral Sex, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Child Abuse, Past Drug Use, Possessive John, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Derek, Protective John, Rimming, Swearing, Therapy, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Wolf Derek, past unrequited Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski - Freeform, rape/non-con not between Derek & John, sherek - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2018-05-12 17:00:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 18
Words: 122,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5673658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devilscut/pseuds/devilscut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Deputy Derek Hale has been working happily for the Sheriff's Department for a few years now under Sheriff John Stilinski, during that time he's come to care for the older man beyond being work colleagues and pack mates.  Over the past year though, the Sheriff's gone decidedly chilly around him.  An early morning emergency call to a house fire that echoes Derek's own loss is the trigger for events that may change their relationship forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FiccinDylan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FiccinDylan/gifts).



> “On the ragged edge of the world I’ll roam and the home of the wolf will be my home.” – Robert W Service
> 
> For 'S' - sister of my heart and yet you never knew I wrote, was too embarrassed to tell you and now I've lost the chance, but I know you always loved 'the older man' so this is for you.
> 
> For 'Ficcindylan' - in all the fandoms the smartest, funniest, most compassionate lady I know.
> 
> Few housekeeping things first:  
> *Bold italics – usually indicates a flashback.  
> *I've included the 'rape/non con' tag as there are references to not only instances with Kate Argent and a much younger Derek, but also the unhealthy coping mechanisms that Derek uses in relations to his PTSD, even though he considers them consensual and himself in control, just to be on the safe side. Please don't read if there is even the slightest chance that you maybe triggered.  
> *I like continuity, even if my fics aren't directly linked, so Derek's family that he lost are Talia - his mom, David - his dad, Daniel - his younger brother, Diana - his younger sister (and Cora's twin), Nathan - his uncle, Victoria - his aunt and Lucinda - his baby cousin.  
> *I am normally a die-hard Sterek fan/writer, but I had the briefest scene that kept replaying over and over in my head and I knew that I had to turn my hand to Sherek at least once to bring that to life.  
> *This is a work of fiction and I am certainly not an expert on PTSD or mental/emotional health issues, the coping mechanisms that occur are purely the result of my imagination as to what could possibly occur in particular supernatural circumstances.
> 
> Unbeta'ed.

[Black lab - This night (Derek's theme)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WVW_6-VE-uU)

 

When Derek Hale regained consciousness there was more smoke in his lungs than oxygen. He was pretty sure swallowing a handful of razor blades couldn’t have irritated or damaged his airways more, every breath a choking, rasping hurt followed by a violent dry, hacking cough that felt close to snapping a rib. Writhing on the ground, he struggles to breathe, his body curling in on itself one moment as it heals before arching up and out in the next, every part of him straining desperately for clean untainted air. Swallowing thickly, painfully, all he can taste are ashes on his cracked and swollen tongue.

 

Blinded by tangled, coated lashes and eyelids practically glued shut with grit and sweat, Derek squints, trying to see through the slits of barely parted lids. Nothing is distinguishable. A few blurry dark blobs moving around him, haloed by a revolving round of red, blue and white flashing lights that ratchet his defensive instincts higher and higher when he realises he can’t tell who they are. Can’t discern any identifying scents through the overpowering acrid smell of smoke.

 

Derek’s eyes water furiously mixing with the soot and dirt he can feel embedded in his skin, making his eyes sting and leak even more moisture in a vicious painful cycle. Lifting a hand to his face he tries to rub the burning itch out of his sensitive eyes, grinding his knuckles into his eye sockets, his breath hitching in surprise when a large callused paw of a hand gently wraps around his and firmly draws it away as though he’s a child.

 

“Stop it. You’ll make it worse.” The familiar masculine voice, calm and rock steady, settles the panicked beat of his heart at being so vulnerable and Derek blows out a small huffing sigh of relief as his fingers cling desperately to the other man’s warm hand. “Here…I’m going to wash out your eyes with some water okay?”

 

Derek nods, shivering uncontrollably when the man releases his hand to cradle the back of his neck giving it a reassuring squeeze as he supports Derek’s head, tilting it slightly. Before he can even think about the way his breath stupidly stutters at the intimate contact, the first splash of cool water hits his face. The relief is instant and he moans helplessly, pressing his head back into the long fingers that hold him so securely feeling them tighten momentarily, fingertips digging almost pleasurably into his scalp, tangling with his hair. Eyelids fluttering he lets the soothing liquid bathe his eyes, the water trickling down his temples to soak into his hairline as it removes the film of filth that had coated them. Blinking rapidly as his vision clears, the flow of water stops and a soft cloth is gently pressed to his face, the delicate skin around his eyes being patted and dabbed dry.

 

The fabric is slowly brushed over the sensitive skin one final time before it’s removed and Derek’s able to see properly for the first time since he’d woken. Eyes wide, he frantically searches the little group of faces surrounding him, all watching him with varying degrees of concern until inevitably they’re drawn to the one person who makes him feel so safe. Kneeling right beside him on the cool grass, still holding the cotton pad from a med kit, is the Sheriff.

 

Jordan’s hovering just behind him, hunched over with hands on his knees and a huge smile of relief on his good-looking face, eyes flaring red and orange which to anyone non-pack could be seen as a reflection of the fire, but Derek knows it’s not. Kneeling on Derek’s other side is an EMT, her head tilted watching him intently. Struggling to sit up, Derek easily bats away the EMT’s gloved hands that try to hold a clear plastic oxygen mask over his nose and mouth.

 

“Are they safe? Daniel…Diana…did I get them out?” His voice echoes rawly, hoarse yet so very hopeful in his own ears while fear and anguish rip through his chest. His hands reach out and clutch at the Sheriff’s jacket desperately, fisting the material tight. He feels the warmth of the older man’s hands covering his own, pressing them into his chest, hard enough that Derek can feel the Sheriff’s heartbeat thud steadily against his knuckles.

 

Worried pale blue eyes hold his for a long agonizing moment, before shutting briefly, and when they open again they’re dark with pain and sympathy. It’s like a punch to the gut, the fog of confusion lifts and reality brutally crashes back down, Derek is bitterly aware that nothing’s changed. His younger brother and sister are still gone. He still failed them.

 

“Yes…they’re safe. Adam and Samantha Hastings are safe. You got them out Derek.” The Sheriff winces and Derek knows it’s in reaction to the way his face twists and contorts, his breath stuttering as old grief wraps a tight band around his heart and lungs, the wound feeling as fresh and as gutting as it had that long ago morning. Hunching into the older man’s body, he lets his forehead drop to the Sheriff’s solid chest, his mouth falling open to silently cry out his pain as memories surface. Memories more recent than those of twelve years ago and another fire.

 

The night had been a pleasantly peaceful one, a crescent moon high above, as he patrolled the exclusive Heights area due to an attempted car theft the previous evening. Not unusual in itself, but the sports car was a McClaren valued at close to $300K and the security at the mansion was the latest high-tech, that they’d not been deterred by it indicated a not the average booster. It’d been pre-dawn, the sky revealing it's true colours, shifting from black to a deep navy blue, and he’d been working his way down to the more suburban Valley when he’d received the call on his two-way.  Dispatch sending him to the Hasting’s residence, a neighbour reporting the house was on fire.

 

It had been well ablaze when he’d arrived, second on scene to the FD, to find Lorna and Brett Hastings in hysterics on their front lawn as they watched their house burn with their two young children inside. They’d staggered back and forth, clutching and pulling at each other in a bizarre dance of grief before what was no longer their home, but a funeral pyre.

 

Thick black smoke pouring out of the structure as huge flames flickered visibly through the windows had paralysed Derek for what felt like hours, but had really only been seconds until he could make his feet move. Several firemen stumbled out of the house, dragging each other along to safety, they’d shaken their heads at him in passing and Derek had heard the groaning creaking noise of the burning structure knowing that the second floor was going to come down at any moment.

 

Beyond the wounded noises the dying house made, Derek had clearly heard the whimpering of a child. He didn’t remember anything after that. Just vague impressions of pale piercing blue eyes holding his gaze for an eternity, clutching hands trying to hold onto him easily shaken off, voices calling his name sharp with fear, then hellfire and thick choking smoke, heat-damaged timbers cracking loudly as brightly sparking embers fell on his head and shoulders and then finally…the tiny fragile bodies he’d carried tucked against him as he prayed to God, any God that would deign to listen and answer his prayer, that this time he could get them out. That he would be there with them like he hadn’t been before. That he could save Daniel and Diana and if he couldn’t…well he’d be with them until the end.

 

Only, it wasn’t his 12 year old brother and his ten year old sister he’d brought out of the flames. The bodies that he’d held so tight to his chest had been smaller, the choked cries higher pitched and the feeble cries for ‘mommy’ and ‘daddy’ had sounded young. So very young that it hurt to hear them. Grief at the renewed sense of loss battles with the relief that he’d managed to save these children.

 

That he hadn’t let anyone else die.

 

Slumping weakly, Derek’s fingers slowly release the Sheriff’s jacket and for the first time he realises that the older man's been holding him tight, arms wrapped around his shoulders.  He doesn't know what to do with that, the offer of comfort in stark contrast to the bewildering growing estrangement of the past year, all put on hold in the face of his grief. 

 

He lowers himself back to the damp grass beneath him, John's hands falling away. He can feel the dew penetrating the fabric of his uniform trousers and he shivers at the chill, but can’t be bothered to move. Letting his eyes close, all he wants is to curl up and just let everything wash over him and leave him here, leave him behind like a piece of driftwood on the beach, all alone. Alone, so he can endure the agonizing ache that fills his chest to bursting without curious eyes watching him.

 

“We need to get going.” The EMT snaps, her words directed at the Sheriff, instinctively addressing the authority in the small group. “His lungs could be irreparably damaged if we wait much longer.”

 

Derek sits back up and catches the Sheriff’s eye. Shaking his head at the other man letting him know that his healing is well and truly kicking in. Each breath coming more easily than the last.

 

The Sheriff holds up his hand. “Just give us one moment please.” The EMT opens her mouth and snaps it shut at the quelling look he gives her. She snorts, blonde ponytail swishing angrily. Derek’s momentary relief dissolves rapidly as he receives the same fierce glare.

 

“Two things. First—“ The Sheriff lifts his hand and runs it over the crown of his head, smoothing the light brown hair and down to the back of his neck, his drawn features lighten, he says in a softer tone. “– you did good. You got those kids out, you saved them Derek. You saved them.”

 

A momentary burst of pleasure floods through Derek’s body at the praise, but the soft tone doesn’t last. The Sheriff’s face goes taut and his scent momentarily overpowers that of the fire, becoming sharp and bitterly pungent with anger and fear. It makes Derek’s nose twitch uncontrollably. “Second, you deliberately ignored the instructions of the FD and entered that building—“

 

“But Sir, I heard—“ Derek bites off the retort, he can’t finish that sentence when there are people around that don’t know about wolves. There’s a flash of something in the Sheriff’s eyes. Something that Derek can’t interpret, only knows his stomach tightens in response. The Sheriff’s stern expression darkens even more and Derek doesn’t know whether it’s because he almost gave away what he is or because he interrupted.

 

“You were lucky.” He grinds out harshly. “The roof collapsed only seconds after you got out. If you do anything like this again…if you disobey me or a directive from the FD like that again and if there’s anything left of you, I will put an official reprimand on your record and you will take a disciplinary leave of absence until I decide whether you’re capable of doing the job and following orders.” The Sheriff’s voice is cutting, sharp edged like a razor as he glowers at him and Derek can feel something inside him curl up and wither at the cold fury that the other man directs at him. He nods. Eyes lowered, chastened, fighting the compulsion to tilt his head back and bare his throat to the older man.

 

“Check him again, his colour looks better now.” The EMT startles at the abrupt order, flashing Derek a sympathetic glance, he’s just grateful that the Sheriff’s rebuke has given him long enough to recover from the smoke inhalation. His lungs and throat don’t feel as though they’re lined with sandpaper any longer, the raw abrasion of every breath is gone.

 

“Parrish get him home and Hale—“ The Sheriff says coolly, waiting a beat until Derek hesitantly raises his eyes to meet his. “–don’t come in for your shift tonight.”

 

“But, Sir—“ Derek begins only to break off when the Sheriff stands up giving him a long inscrutable look before simply turning away and walking to his SUV parked at a skewed angle on the road. Derek can’t take his eyes off the straight backed figure, who doesn’t glance back once, as he gets into the front cab of the vehicle. Can’t help the little sub-vocal whine that escapes him as he watches it disappear down the road and out of sight.

 

Well, shit. Derek frowns, ignoring the EMT who’s been listening to his chest with her stethoscope her eyes going wide in disbelief as she obviously hears that his lungs are perfectly normal now, like he’d never even been caught in the middle of a raging inferno.

 

Derek shivers uncontrollably in delayed reaction. He’d rather face that raging inferno any day than the Sheriff’s controlled icy fury.

 

 

John drives away from the Hasting’s home with his hands shaking uncontrollably as they grip the steering wheel. When he’s a good couple of blocks away he pulls over and parks his SUV and finally lets the overwhelming panic he’d felt when he saw Derek Hale run into a burning house crash over him.

 

Shuddering violently he manages to let go of the steering wheel, each finger stiffly releasing one at a time and buries his face in his hands. With his eyes closed it’s somehow worse as he pictures the look on Derek’s face as he stood on the front lawn watching the fire when he and Parrish had first pulled up. The horrifying blankness across his features was stark, as if he’d had to withdraw behind some mental barrier, protecting himself from the painful reminder of another family going up in smoke and flames.

 

**_Opening the vehicle door, John’s senses are instantly assailed with the scent of smoke irritating his nasal passages and the taste of ashes on his lips, the wail of sirens from more approaching rescue services vehicles and the hissing sound of pressurised water being directed into the heart of the fire is deafening._ **

 

**_He takes in the scene at a glance. Firemen frantically trying to extinguish the flames as a man in boxers and t-shirt simultaneously tries to restrain and comfort a woman in a yellow cotton nightgown who's crying brokenly, reaching out towards the house, fingers curled into scrabbling claws. Bile rises in his throat at the realisation that there’s someone trapped inside._ **

****

**_Backlit by the glow of the fire, John sees Derek’s head tilt slightly, the almost dog-like cocking of his head telling him he’s listening to something…something the rest of them can’t hear._ **

****

**_“Don’t.” John whispers under his breath._ **

****

**_Derek turns towards him instantly. A furious determination straightens his broad shoulders from where they’d been slumped in resigned defeat and it lights up his eyes turning them momentarily wolf blue as for one breathtaking, heartbreaking moment their eyes meet and John feels his throat catch because he knows. He knows Derek’s intentions as surely as if they were his own and Stiles was in that burning building and he starts to run, watching with his guts churning in fear as some of the firemen try to catch onto his Deputy’s arms and hold him back, but Derek slips through with a speed and strength that dazzles John to witness it._ **

****

**_“Hale…God damnit…Derek…Derek.” John runs. Runs towards that open doorway, that gateway to a fiery hell, intent on following the other man in and hauling him out, dragging him out and back to safety. The tackle that brings him down only steps away from the front porch is as much unexpected as it is unwanted. John growls furiously, the power of speech lost to him as he struggles to free himself from the strong arms that hold him tight. Looking over his shoulder he can see that Parrish is pinning his lower body down and Fire Chief Horler has his weight on his upper right side, keeping his shoulder and arm pressed tight to the ground._ **

****

**_“John…John stop this.” Gary Horler grunts as he grimly holds John in place. John had always considered the Fire Chief a close friend, they’d known each other for years now and always got along working together so closely, the traditional rivalry between their two Departments was always respectful of each other’s roles. That is until the annual charity baseball game, then all bets were off. Right now, however, John hates his guts. “You can’t go in. I can’t let you, it’s coming down.”_ **

****

**_“Please.” Parrish pleads. “Stiles.” And right then at the mention of his son, John feels the strength seep away from his limbs like he’s a balloon that’s been pricked by a pin and he’s deflating rapidly. There’s no way that he can put his kid through the loss of a parent again and as the tension leaves his body drained and suddenly weak, he can feel the two men gradually ease their hold on him._ **

****

**_They let him go, hovering around him protectively, and John gets to his hands and knees before struggling to his feet, he bats away the hands that try to help and he knows it’s rude and ungrateful, but he can’t…he just can’t. What’s worse is the sympathy he sees in Gary’s eyes.  The echo of understanding, of knowing what it’s like to lose a man in the field makes his chest ache and his gut knot. The agony is that he’s lost men and women before, good men and women, but this…this feels so much worse._ **

****

**_“I’m sorry.” Gary says bleakly, before turning away to join his crew. John watches the house burn. He desperately wants to throw up when he hears the loud warning creak of timbers starting to give way. The upper floor is coming down and he can’t turn away as much as he wants to, because the need to stand witness to the final moments of a good man’s life is all that he can give now._ **

****

**_He doesn’t believe in miracles or a higher power influencing events, not anymore. It’s something he’d given up on a long time ago maybe around the time his wife died, yet when he sees movement in the swirl of smoke billowing out of the open front door and a figure staggers out and down the porch steps, a part of him instinctively sends a prayer of thanks to a God that he’d long ago repudiated._ **

****

**_Derek sees him and his eyes shine brightly, starkly beautiful with triumph in the soot stained face as he moves unsteadily towards him, stumbling, and John’s moving. Moving towards him so incredibly fast because the weight’s gone from his chest and he’s never felt this light before nor this powerful, wrapping his arm around Derek supporting him, lending him his strength to keep him upright. In his arms John can see two tiny figures squirming within the Departmental jacket that Derek’s protectively wrapped them in._ **

****

**_“I…I got them John…I got them out.” Derek grates out hoarsely, voice wrecked, as he tries to smile. He sways dangerously and suddenly there’s movement all around them and the children are plucked out of Derek’s arms by the EMT’s and their parents. John holds him up and realises that Parrish has moved to his other side and between them they get Derek to the lawn area closest to the road and lay him down. For one terrible, terrible moment John thinks that Derek’s dead, he’s so still and unmoving until Parrish checks his pulse at his throat and says matter-of-factly ‘Passed out’. It’s only then that John sees his chest moving, rising and falling with each shallow breath. The relief is such a rush he feels dizzy._ **

****

**_A final death rattle from the house thunders loudly in the early morning air as it finally collapses in on itself, showers of sparks and embers leap into the grey sky to be caught in the soft breeze and carried away, leaving a fiery trail that’s almost beautiful. The flames rising higher and higher, devouring whatever’s left as the second floor abruptly disappears, swallowed whole. John shudders in horror at the thought of Derek and the kids being trapped in that conflagration._ **

****

**_Kneeling beside Derek, he feels a swell of tenderness throb almost painfully in his chest as he looks down at the unconscious man. He can’t help himself and his fingers lightly comb through the younger man’s dark hair, as much a caress as to reassure himself that he’s alive and okay. Derek looks so vulnerable, it’s almost painful to see how young he really is with his clean-shaven face so relaxed and John suddenly feels old in comparison. Too old, too broken. The silky strands wrap around his fingers enticingly, even as a little voice at the back of his head whispers ‘not too old or too broken to care’._ **

****

John lifts his head, hoping like hell no one saw the Sheriff of Beacon Hills sitting in his vehicle having some sort of emotional crisis. A crisis that he has to ignore or lose his mind. Pressing his fingers to his chest, he idly rubs at the lingering ache that sits there and tries to soothe the pain, but it’s not physical so it doesn’t ease at all and in some respects it hurts a hell of a lot more than any wound or injury he can ever recall.

 

Such a close call only reinforces the need for John to maintain his professional distance from Derek Hale. When Derek had first joined the Department at John’s invitation nearly four years ago he’d been so pleased. The two of them had worked well together a number of times unofficially on what he regards as the ‘spooky stuff’ and he’d not anticipated anything different in this capacity either.

 

He’d been right, the majority of the time they were rostered to patrol individually, but whenever John needed a partner he assigned Derek to himself, they gelled in a way that went beyond the normal bonds of those serving together within the ‘thin blue line’. They just seemed to click, working in tandem so well that they’d often not needed to speak a word to know what the other was thinking, moving together in sync so smoothly that John often felt that Derek was an extension of himself.

 

Much to John’s surprise and secret delight, working so closely together he’d gotten to know Derek, the real Derek Hale, and come to realise that he was more than a snarly, sometimes wolf. Sure there was sarcasm and much to John’s annoyance such a fierce need to protect that he frequently found the younger man trying to stand in front of him on the more dangerous call outs, but there was also a gentleness and a kindness to the other man that he’d witnessed that was endearing.

 

The almost bashful ducking of his head to hide his pleased smile when everyone rostered on his shift scrambles to get one of his giant choc chip muffins that he brings in to share, the hint of cinnamon and the dusting of sugar on the top is to die for. They’re almost as good as the cakes he bakes whenever it’s someone’s birthday in the Department.  Derek Hale, a closet baker and a good one - who knew?

 

The interest free loan that he’d given to Tracy, their dispatcher, a single Mom who couldn’t afford insurance and certainly didn’t need the additional costs of roof repairs after a particularly violent storm last winter, before John could even offer the small amount of assistance he could personally afford himself.  He's never failed to put money in a collection tin or buy cookies or chocolates for fund-raising to John's knowledge, as generous with his money as he is with his time.

 

When he'd first volunteered to put on the red suit they had tucked away in the evidence room and be Santa at the party that the Sheriff’s Department hosted each Christmas for underprivileged kids, John had been taken by surprise. That the kids adored him was not, how could anyone resist his wide smile, sparkling eyes and gentle manner as he sat them on his knee and patiently listened to all the Christmas wishes from every single child until they were done.

 

There were so many instances, that John wonders how on earth he’d misjudged the young man so badly, when he considers that only a few years ago Derek Hale was a fugitive on the run and on his ‘most wanted’ list as a killer and now he’s one of his most trusted and well-liked Deputies. There’s not another Deputy in his Department that he holds in as high a regard for their professionalism and dedication, it’s like he was born for the job.

 

Children and the elderly were a particular weakness for his Deputy and Derek’s sweet smile for them had John questioning whether he’d done the right thing by bringing him into a world where they were also so often its victims, but Derek hadn’t flinched. He’d hunted down perpetrators in these particular crimes with a ruthless viciousness that ensured many murderers, paedophiles, home invaders, drug suppliers, child and elderly abusers were now locked away behind bars because of his single-minded need to bring them to justice…and because John wouldn’t allow Derek to eviscerate them.

 

It wasn’t until one day almost a year ago, when he’d found himself staring across the bullpen from his office watching the younger man sitting at his desk. Parrish was perched on the edge next to him as they chatted, his hand clasping Derek’s shoulder as they laughed and smiled at each other, and as John’s pencil fell onto his desk, snapped in two, he’d realised he maybe getting in deeper than he ever anticipated. Something dark and ugly had risen inside him, even though John knows that Derek and Jordan are simply friends, he’d wanted nothing more than to storm out there and rip that hand away, but instead had somehow managed to sit there, tense and watchful. It was frightening feeling something that powerful, that out of control.

 

He didn’t assign himself with Derek again. The younger man had taken one look at the new rosters and the expression on his face, the raw hurt in his eyes as he’d held John’s, had him mentally wincing at the memory. But, he couldn’t back down, he daren’t.

 

It’s too much, feels like he’s being torn in two by what he desperately wants and what he **_should_** do and he lets go of the rigid control he’s held onto for nearly a year, lets it go for just one moment, slapping his open palm hard on the steering wheel over and over until it’s red and throbbing and his mouth is slack and gaping as he pants heavily from the exertion.  Slumping over he rests his forehead on the cool rubber of the steering wheel and tries to get a grip.

 

Eventually, John turns the key in the ignition, fighting the dangerous urge to turn the vehicle around and head back to where the younger man is. To make sure he’s really okay, but he can’t. No matter what his feelings for Derek and truth be told he didn’t dare to examine them too closely and give them name, he can’t endanger both of their lives because of them. That he was willing to go up in flames, forgetting all that he is and all the responsibilities he bears, is proof of that.

 

He pulls away from the curb and drives down the street and though the sky is lightening, turning a soft grey with the rising sun, somehow John still feels trapped in darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jordan's a good friend and gives Derek some insight into the Sheriff and Derek's role within the pack. Derek struggles to cope with the aftermath of the fire and the trauma it unleashes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the positive response to this pairing, it's so very encouraging.
> 
> Warning - there are some references to nightmares in this chapter and the aftermath of the Hale fire which includes some sensory descriptions eg. sight, smell etc... If you believe this could be a trigger, please either do not read or read with caution.
> 
> Unbeta'ed.

Derek’s well aware that Jordan keeps sneaking sideways glances at him as he drives them back to his loft. He ignores them preferring to keep his eyes focused on the road ahead even if he’s not driving himself, keeping his bearings, anxious to get home so he can crawl into his bed and pull the covers over his head and hide.

 

Movement catches his eye and he looks down at his hands in his lap. They’re clenching into tight fists, unconsciously opening and closing with his inner agitation and he forces them to still. It’s well after sunrise and with the increasing morning light he can see how filthy they are. Streaked with ground in black grime that will take forever to scrub off. He definitely needs a shower first before he gets anywhere near his bed.

 

A drop of liquid falls onto the back of his hand.

 

A splash of water.  It’s a shock, that cool wet sensation on his flesh. Derek stiffens, breath stuttering, he can feel the moisture on his skin like acid and turns his head to look blindly out the passenger door window. Doesn’t want Jordan to see, even though they’ve backed each other up numerous times on the job and Derek considers him a good friend and pack mate outside of working hours as well, still he doesn’t want Jordan to know that he’s started to cry and hadn’t even realised he was doing it.  He clenches his jaw tight, eyes blinking rapidly as he pushes the urge down and away with sheer force of will.

 

He doesn’t cry. Hasn’t cried for many years now. Maybe too many, enough that he’d thought he’d forgotten how until right now. Doesn’t really even know why he’s doing it this time. Everything turned out okay. He got the kids out and from all reports they’ll be fine. He’s okay too, with werewolf healing he basically came out without a scratch. So why he feels this deep-seated sadness is a mystery. He recalls the Sheriff’s face this morning, the pale blue eyes stern, deep grooves either side of his pinched mouth, highlighted by the flashing lights flickering over him and his inner wolf whines mournfully.

 

With the thumb of his other hand he swipes over the moisture, can see and feel it smear together with the black soot creating an oily slick film on his skin that smells of charred wood and the bitter toxic scent of burned plastics. It reminds him all too much of when he and Laura had gone back to their home after the fire to see if there was anything they could salvage.

 

They’d not even managed to get out of the car. Not voluntarily anyway.

 

The stench of their burned home and their burned family had been sickeningly sweet penetrating the car through the air vents, a thick cloud surrounding the shattered blackened shell that had been his home. The lingering aroma of cooked meat in the air reminding him painfully of his family and how they’d gather, human and wolf, for a late night cook-out after a pack run under the bright moon and that memory had made his stomach turn violently even as it growled hungrily, his mouth watering as saliva flooded into his mouth so thick and fast he’d nearly choked on it.

 

The wrongness of it in that context had paralysed him, sitting in the passenger seat of the rental car until suddenly he wasn’t anymore. He’d found himself on his hands and knees in the dirt next to the vehicle, where he’d fallen out of the door that he didn’t even remember opening, hearing the Autumn dry leaves of brown and yellow and red crackle under his scrabbling fingers. Retching and heaving, his stomach contracted into hard knots because there was simply nothing in it.

 

He’d barely been able to eat since the Deputy had pulled him out of early morning basketball practice a couple of days previously and told him his world had ended. Even Laura in her new role of Alpha to a pack of two, because Peter had been hovering so close to death as to not count, who’d been so determinedly, viciously stoic that it had frightened him, had turned white and struggled to hold her breath as she’d crouched next to him rubbing his back in gentle circles, right between his shoulder blades, whispering “It’s okay, it’s okay…it’s okay” over and over.

 

She was trying so hard, he’d not been able to tell her that it would never be okay again.

 

Distracted, it takes him a moment to realise that they’ve stopped. The SUV parked in front of his building. Derek turns to Jordan and sees the concern etched onto his handsome face as the other man scrutinises his features, eyes widening in almost alarm, downward grooves form at the edges of Jordan’s mouth and a deep crease between his eyebrows, and it soothes something inside him. There are people that care for him, he knows that, it’s just easy to forget sometimes when he gets lost in smoke and flames.

 

“He was worried about you.” Jordan says carefully. Derek instantly knows who **_he_** is. Jordan’s been his sole confidant regarding the increasingly strained relationship between himself and the Sheriff. Not that he’s revealed to him anything regarding his personal feelings, preferring to keep it in a professional context, Jordan’s the only one who knows how painful it’s been for Derek to see the older man withdraw from him when they’d worked together so closely and so well. A couple of the other Deputies, the ones he’d always thought of as jerks, had been quite gleeful about his fall from favour, but not Jordan.  

 

Derek barely shakes his head, he’s never doubted John Stilinski’s care and concern for the men and women under his command. He’d go to the wall for any one of them. It’s a given.

 

“I know. He worries about all of us.”

 

“No.” Jordan reaches out and grabs his arm, fingers pressing in, holding on tight, something in his insistent voice telling Derek that he needs the contact not only to reinforce his point, but for reassurance as well.

 

“When we pulled up, you were running towards the house, they were trying to hold you back and you were like zoned out. Shrugging them off and the Sheriff…God, Derek, he was running after you, yelling at you to stop but you didn’t and we had to jump on him to stop him from going in after you.” Jordan shakes his head in disbelief.

 

“He would’ve gone in after you Derek and how would I have told Stiles that his Dad and his best friend—“ Jordan stops abruptly, his voice choking and his face taut and drawn, eyes distant as he’s caught up in a painful unwanted vision. “I would’ve had to tell him that you were both gone.”

 

Derek can’t breathe and it’s not an aftereffect of smoke inhalation, his chest feels frozen as he pictures the Sheriff…no if he’s honest it’s been John in his head for a long time now, he pictures John chasing after him. Ready to go into a burning building and save him. It’s confusing and hasn’t that always been the case with his feelings about John Stilinski, so he focuses on the other things that Jordan’s revealed because he daren’t look too closely at what it all means because he could be wrong. He’s been so very wrong before and everyone he loved had paid the price.

 

“I’m not.” Derek sees the puzzled quirk to one eyebrow that Jordan makes at his blunt statement and qualifies. “I’m Stiles’ friend, not his best friend. That’s Scott.”

 

Jordan raises his eyebrows in surprise. “You guys…the three of you are so close, they may not be blood, but Scott’s his brother and you don’t get to pick family it’s just there, so you…you’re Stiles’ best friend. He chose you Derek. When the three of you are together—“ He screws his face up as he tries to find the right words, a thread of wonder and envy in his tone. “–you just fit.”

 

Derek sits quietly, Jordan’s words echoing in his mind. They’d come a long way, he and his pack mates. He can’t deny what Jordan says about them being close. He, Scott and Stiles had stood for and against one another over the years as they’d battled whatever the nemeton had drawn to it and they’d come away from it with bonds between them forged in blood and pain and eventually trust.

 

He misses them so much, can feel an ache in his gut at knowing that Stiles is all the way over the other side of the country at Harvard doing a double, political science and psychology, to assist in his role as Scott’s pack emissary, the traditional negotiator between packs and to the Hunter Council. Lydia is with him, eyes still firmly set on a Field’s medal as she studies math at MIT and Derek has no doubt that it will be hers eventually. It comforts him knowing they are finally happy together even if it had taken more years than Stiles had counted on with his so-called ten year plan, more grief, missed opportunities and tears than even he’d thought possible.

 

It’s the same tugging sensation, low in his belly, that lets him know Malia is okay or at the very least she’s alive. No one’s seen her for years, wherever she is though he can feel a base contentment through the bond that makes him suspect that she’s given up her humanity again. He convinced Scott not to track her down or try and draw her out, surprisingly Stiles had supported him after trying for so long to integrate her back into the human world, summing it up succinctly _‘don’t deny her happiness as a coyote just because we don’t understand it’_. If she’s ever ready to come back, he’s pretty sure he’d feel it and the pack would welcome her back with open arms.

 

He sees more of Scott as he’s closer at UC Davis in the midst of his veterinary course and is able to get home at least every couple of weeks for the weekend to see Melissa and the rest of the pack as do the pups who are in their first year, Liam and Mason are Freshmen at Berkley and Brett at Stanford. Kira’s in Japan completing a 12 month research project in Asian Studies after winning a Fellowship and he really misses her, maybe as much as Scott, she’s more than a pack mate she feels like a hyper little sister and has become a very dear friend. The smile she always gives him is so joyous, so affectionate, it’s so easy to be around her, someone he’s truly comfortable with. Derek’s so proud of each and every one of them.

 

The cab of the SUV is close and intimate, but it’s not uncomfortable. The two of them are turned slightly towards each other in their seats, both lost in their own thoughts.

 

“I need a shower.” Derek says eventually. Jordan nods in agreement, his eyes flickering over Derek which makes him look down at himself and he can see that his uniform is just as stained and marked as his skin. He smiles tiredly at the other Deputy, suddenly drained from the combination of being up all night and the flux of emotions crashing through him in the last few hours. “Yeah, I **_really_** need a shower.”

 

“Go and get some sleep.” Jordan insists. “And don’t come in tonight. You’ll only piss him off more if you try.”

 

Derek pulls a face because that’s the last thing he wants, for John to be even more angry at him. Not because he’s afraid of him, but because he respects him so much and to feel that disapproval gnaws away at his very guts.

 

“Okay.” He holds his hand out to the other man to shake in gratitude for the conversation and simply being there for him, but Jordan takes it and pulls him into an awkward half-hug over the centre console and Derek lets himself be held for a minute. It feels nice.

 

“Go on. You’d best get home or Melissa will be wondering where you are.” He finally says and Jordan pulls back, smiling widely at the mention of her name, and for one brief moment Derek feels a pang of envy that the other man has someone waiting for him to go home to. 

 

Jordan and Melissa have been together for nearly two years.  It all started with a junkie, a blade in front of too many witnesses and Jordan needing ‘stitches’ at the hospital while Melissa was on shift in the ER, which led to meeting up for coffee which led to actual dates and now the two of them are living in Melissa’s home and to Derek’s mind they look and feel right together. Melissa’s a beautiful woman, strong and fiery, who smiles a lot more now and somehow looks lighter, like she doesn’t carry a huge weight on her shoulders anymore and as for Jordan…well Derek’s pretty sure Jordan looks at Melissa with his heart in his eyes and not the bewilderment he wore for so long when he’d trailed after Lydia. A hellhound drawn to a banshee, a harbinger of death, by their very natures rather than any genuine deeper feelings for each other, which thankfully they’d realised before they’d gotten too involved.

 

Derek opens the car door and stands on the sidewalk leaning back in with folded forearms resting within the frame of the open window. Dipping his head, his gaze flickering to the spaces all around the other Deputy without quite meeting his eyes Derek says “Thanks for the ride and…”

 

He pauses weighing up his words, wanting to pick the right ones because Stiles always tells him _‘use your words sourwolf’_ and this is important to him. Jordan’s important to him. His friend. He finally lets their eyes meet and blurts out. “You know, just thanks.”

 

Derek shrugs helplessly, annoyed that he can’t express verbally what he feels, but thankfully Jordan seems to get it and waves a hand in the space between them letting him know that they’re good. “Not a problem. Now go and get some rest.”

 

Derek pushes off the door frame and steps back, nodding his head in agreement, he gives a half-wave as the SUV pulls away from the curb. He watches it disappear down the street until it turns the corner and is gone from sight. Sighing, Derek turns and looks at the building he owns.

 

Architecturally, it still appeals to him. The large windows, the long lines and angles of the building which then morph into some surprising curves. If he ever gets his ass into gear and actually arranges for all the remodelling he’d had in mind when he first saw it, the whole industrial chic look would make him another fortune. Unfortunately, he’s not been anywhere near inclined. Maybe there’s been too much pain and death here for him ever to be ready, but he can’t seem to let it go, can’t seem to move on, like it would be forgetting his pack mates, his Betas. Erica, Boyd and Isaac.

 

He misses them every day. Sometimes the random phone calls he gets from Isaac are more painful than not hearing from him at all, but Derek deals with it because at least he’s alive and able to either verbally eviscerate him or grudgingly ask for more funds from whichever European city he’s in at the time.

 

When John had offered him a Deputy position in the Department, he’d grabbed it with both hands thinking only in the short term, that it would be something to keep him occupied and out of his empty loft for hours at a time until he knew what he wanted to do while his pack mates went to College or finished High School. Technically, he didn’t need to work at all. His self-managed portfolio was that good, even a major fluctuation or crash in the market wouldn’t damage his ability to care for himself or the pack.

 

He could’ve gone and got another degree, but nothing really appealed and he didn’t want to impose his presence on his pack mates and inhibit all the College experiences they would boast loudly about or sincerely regret in the future. This was their time and they needed the space to grow. Plus someone needed to be here to keep an eye on their territory which admittedly didn’t take much, as the spike in supernatural activity that had spiralled out of control in Beacon Hills back when he’d first returned because of Laura had dropped drastically, much to everyone’s relief.

 

So short term had become nearly four years later and he loved it and what’s more, he was good at it too. The day John had called him a natural for police work after finding a missing child in a particularly difficult case, involving an abduction by the non-custodial parent, had been one of the sweetest, happiest days he’d had in such a long time. He’d basked in his approval. He loved helping people, loved feeling useful and valued. The people he worked with had become important to him, admittedly there were a couple of jerks who knew to steer clear of him, but on the whole they were colleagues who walked the same line he did everyday never knowing if they were going to make it home that night and whether they did or not often depended on their fellow officers backing them up. It was a bond that reminded him of pack.

 

He can’t even pinpoint when his feelings changed for the older man, from being colleagues to friends to Derek wanting something more than he thinks John can give. What hurts the most is that Derek misses the friendship he’d formed with the other man, a man he admires immensely. Strong, intelligent and protective. If he’d been a wolf Derek had no doubt that he’d be an Alpha, his commanding presence dominated all those around him and Derek had frequently found himself instinctively responding to the older man as though he was in fact his Alpha. The need to protect him, the compulsion to constantly earn his approval and the pleasure a simple touch evoked in him were all signs that his wolf considered itself submissive to the Sheriff of Beacon Hills.

 

The warmth that fills his chest to almost painful overflowing whenever he thinks about the other man sends crazy thoughts through his head that being his Alpha isn’t the only role he wants John to fill. He’d seen many wolves with human partners as a pup, with the Hale pack as a powerful force within the Were community it had meant many visits from outside packs for treaty negotiations and celebrations with the ones they were more closely aligned with. So a wolf taking a human mate certainly wasn’t uncommon. What **_was_** unusual was if the human was possessed of a strength of character, a force of will and a natural inclination to lead that was so dominant as to truly satisfy a wolf’s instincts that the human’s place in the hierarchy of a pack was above them. A human Alpha Mate.

 

Those thoughts are ones he tries to bury, not always sucessfully, aside from the fact he doesn’t even know if John is attracted to men there was still the steadfast devotion that both Stiles and his father held for Claudia Stilinski which made him feel inadequate and severely lacking in ways that he can’t even begin to describe, quickly followed by guilt that he was so jealous of a dead woman who had been so loved by the Stilinski men that her passing still haunts them every day.

 

It’s painfully clear that no matter how careful he’s been, how well he’s hidden his feelings, somehow he’s given himself away. It’s more than likely John’s acute observational skills have picked up that his Deputy feels a lot more for him than simply the bond between work colleagues and pack mates.  The awkward avoidance, the increasing distance are all proof of it, he can’t decide if it’s a punishment or a relief that John’s ignoring it, because talking about it just may very well kill him. All he knows is that the unspoken rejection is crushing.

 

Standing in the middle of the vast space of the loft, Derek turns slowly around seeing beyond the changes of new comfortable furniture, colourful rugs on the floor, artwork in a variety of styles on the walls and bookcases in between them filled to overflowing, the memory of how it was once spartan to the point of only being appealing to squatters or drug addicts overlays what he sees now.

 

Painfully he remembers that Erica never saw it at all, remembers coming down those spiral stairs to Boyd and Isaac who were obviously feeling those same instincts and urges towards him as their Alpha, remembers shutting them down so many times afraid of the way they looked at him for answers and for the leadership that he so desperately wanted to provide, but didn’t know how. It makes him wince now that he knows how it feels. How gut-wrenching to have your Alpha turn away.

 

Wearily, he strips off in his bedroom, looking at his bed longingly, but he’s really disgusting so there’s no way he’s going to skip a shower. The one thing he’s grateful for is that the rest of the pack are here so intermittently he doesn’t think that any of his pack mates, apart from Jordan, is aware of just how strained things are between himself and one of the most senior and integral parts of their group.

 

Even if they were around he doesn’t think he would be worried about the wolves, he knows how to camouflage his scent enough that they wouldn’t be able to pick up on any stray emotions. It would be the humans, Stiles and Lydia, maybe Melissa that he would be most concerned about. Sharp and observant, they would be the ones to see.

 

It’s not until he’s standing in his bathroom staring into the mirror over the sink that he sees the lone distinct tear track on his skin that’s cut through the layers of soot and dirt from his eyelid to his chin.

 

Cursing aloud he realises that there’s no way that Jordan missed it.

 

 

 

Steam swirls around him, the glass shower screen and the mirror over the sink are fogged over from the humidity. He scrubs and scrubs at his stained skin until it’s flushed pink and glowing with the blood drawn to just under the sensitized surface from his exertions.

 

When he can no longer see any remnants of the fire on his flesh, Derek stands under the spray one hand splayed against the cool tiles propping himself up, eyes closed enjoying the rush of it over his body, the way it plasters his hair to his head and drips off his chin.

 

Stumbling to his bed once the hot water runs out, Derek slides under the covers groaning in pleasure at the feel of fine cotton against his still slightly damp naked body and the soft embrace of his tired, aching muscles by the plush mattress. With his security system switched on and the black-out curtains drawn closed his loft is dark, warm and safe, his primal wolf brain instinctively recognising it as his den and normally that security would be enough to allow him to rest.

 

Sleep eludes him though, his brain whirring with thoughts that won’t fix in place long enough for him to analyse them properly and memories that flitter and dart around like the small sparrows in the preserve he’d once chased as a pup, before finally settling on one.  

 

The memory of a strong hand cupping the back of his neck, fingers squeezing in comfort as they held him so safe, so protectively. The relief of cool water splashing over his face. The tug of long callused fingers through his hair. These memories trigger a pulsing throb low in his groin, it has his hand seeking out the hot thick length of his rapidly swelling cock, hissing at how sensitive it is under his moving fingers.  Derek strokes himself roughly, enjoying the sweet friction of his foreskin rolling up and down over the fat head.

 

He’s surprised when his release rushes through him without warning, his heartbeat rabbit-quick and his breathing, punching out hard and fast. Grunting harshly, back arching as his cock flexes and strains to expel every drop of come from his loaded up balls. Spent, he collapses and lies there panting trying to catch his breath, come cooling on his belly and guilt creeping into his consciousness at the realisation that he’s jerked off to the memory of his boss’ touch.

 

It’s not the first time he’s jerked off thinking about John Stilinski…John in his uniform pants and the way they hug his tight ass gets him off quick and fast every time, he can draw it out if he pictures the way his eyes crinkle up at the corners when he laughs and then there’s his God damn hands. His long-fingered, big safe hands that make him come so hard imagining how they would feel running over his ass. But, right now it’s different. It’s taking an act of comfort from a good man and twisting it with a sexual intonation that makes him feel nauseous with guilt, like he’s betrayed their friendship with his lust.

 

Cleaning himself up with the tissues he keeps in his bedside table, he throws them into the nearby wastebasket. Derek rolls onto his side and most times he’d face away from the alarm clock and the bright red numbers it projects, but today by its dull light and his enhanced wolf vision he stares at the two picture frames he keeps on his bedside table.

 

The first photo is scorched on the edges.

 

Not long after he’d started at the Department, John had called him into his office at the end of his shift and handed him an old evidence box marked ‘Hale’ from the previous Sheriff’s failed fire investigation and told him to take what he wanted. There wasn’t much in it. The only thing he’d taken was a photo, one that had once sat on the hallway table with a bunch of others near the front door of his family’s home. The photo is of his pack, his family, all of them smiling bright and shiny into the camera, back when he had it all and didn’t realise it. Didn’t appreciate it.

 

The second is of his new pack, taken at Melissa’s birthday party a couple of years ago at her favourite restaurant, Finnegan’s Irish Pub. All the familiar faces smile back at him looking happily ridiculous wearing the cardboard leprechaun top hats that the pub provided, somehow Lydia is the only one who manages to pull it off with any dignity whatsoever, Stiles looking gleefully triumphant at convincing her to wear it as their heads tilt towards one another. For the group shot, one side of the long table stands behind those on the other side, the only thing he sees though is the way John is behind his chair with his large hand resting on Derek’s shoulder before everything became this unspoken strained thing between them. As he slips into what he prays will be a dreamless sleep he almost thinks he can feel the comforting weight of that hand, the warmth from it that he’d felt that night seeping into his bones.

 

****

****

_Derek, what have you done? How could you betray us?_ **Mom, pack mate, Alpha. Her disappointment feels like a bruise on his very soul.**

 

Derek wakes up howling.

 

Panting he drops back heavily onto the bed from his bolt upright position, bouncing slightly on the mattress. The sweat soaked sheets beneath him feel uncomfortably damp and clammy to his fever hot skin. Spasms twitch through every muscle of his body like a jolt of electricity as he tries to get them to relax and release the tension that cords them to the point of snapping.   Eyes darting wildly around the room, Derek’s trembling fingers pull the bedcovers over his shoulders as he curls up tight on his side. Holding his hands just in front of his face he counts to ten. No extra digits and the relief is so overpowering he can ignore the shaking tremors that rack his body.

 

It hadn’t been that bad in a long, long time. It had crossed his mind that he might be restless or simply unable to sleep as he’d been preparing for bed, but he’d not thought he’d be dragged into the nightmare as hard and as deep as when he’d been 16 and recently orphaned. This time Laura wasn’t there for him to draw comfort from.

 

 _God help us, son…son, what did you do?_ **Dad…Dad I didn’t know. Please.**

 

His throat raw and aching, Derek sits on the edge of his bed simply unable to lay there any longer, elbows on knees, forehead pressed into the heels of his palms and body shivering almost feverishly. The screams echo in his ears, both his and his family’s final desperate ones, even though he never actually heard those, but he can imagine. Can identify each and every one of his pack from their desperate cries and terrified screams. Yes, he can imagine.

 

He’s had these nightmares before. Heard the screams in his mind, smelled the burning, felt the heat, watched in horror as flesh bubbled and blackened before peeling away from the bone. He’s not had one for a long time, not this powerful, this real. It’s been a little better since he joined the Sheriff’s Department, most of the time there’s been too many new experiences, things he’s done and witnessed that have taken precedence in his mind and filtered into his dreaming. Not all bad, but not all good either. But, with the events of this morning, too close to his own personal history, it’s brought it back to the fore with brutal, sickening clarity.

 

 _I can’t get out, help me…Derek, where are you?._ **Daniel, my shadow. Looking up to me was a mistake, little bro.**

 

This is the one nightmare his mind accepts as its due, what he deserves and it doesn’t struggle to wake him from it, only this time it was different with a new and painful addition to the horror. This time amongst the many voices calling his name, begging him to help them is another voice, a man’s. Derek presses his forehead harder into his hands, the pressure almost painfully good as he remembers the Sheriff’s voice begging him for help then cursing him before the screaming started.

 

 _It hurts…make it stop Derek…please make it stop._ **Diana, annoying little sister, who once hid all the left shoes of every pair he owned because he ate the last Butterfingers bar. He adores her. He doesn’t know which is worse, her agonized screams or when they abruptly stop.**

 

Lifting his head Derek spies the alarm clock on the bedside table. 6.30pm. He’s slept the day away, but doesn’t feel rested at all. Feels like shit. Rubbing his hand tiredly over his face, he feels the heavy shadow of stubble across his chin and jaw rasp over his fingers. Agitation shifts through him, his skin itching and his pulse skittishly fast. It feels like his whole body is vibrating, head filled with voices that scream and cry and beg. Over and over again. He knows what he has to do. Hasn’t needed to atone for a while, but it’s the only way to settle the restlessness, to placate the demons of memory and guilt.

 

Flicking on the bedside light Derek walks to the wardrobe and starts pulling out what he’s going to wear tonight. If he’s going back to hell he needs to dress the part.

 

 _A baby screams, terrified and in pain._ **6 month old Lucinda. He was hers from the moment she was born. He declared himself his baby cousin’s protector to the rest of the pack when he first held her and she opened her eyes and looked into his, her deep blue ones that later changed to match the starburst colours of his and Laura’s.**

Derek falls to his knees, covers his ears and remembers how to cry.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John realises that the denial of his feelings has resulted in him being a bad friend and pack mate to Derek when he sees how his Deputy copes with his trauma filled memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your kind support and encouraging comments. It is appreciated.
> 
> Again, I am not an expert in PTSD and mental/emotional health issues, this is a work of fiction and what the characters experience and how they treat these issues is I am sure very different to real life.
> 
> BOLO - be on the look out.
> 
> I imagine John to be a classic rock lover, 70's and 80's, Led Zep, Aerosmith etc...so a power rock ballad seems appropriate for his theme.
> 
> Unbeta'ed.

[Whitesnake - Is this love? (John's theme)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ahUQ3tkRtB4)

 

Two blocks before he reaches his destination John switches off his lights and siren. Driving past the front of the club, where a queue has begun to form on the footpath, the sign above the blood red doors is just as harsh and garish as John remembers. _Inferno_ is spelled out in tacky flickering flames _._ He parks the SUV in the deserted alleyway directly behind the club. He’d promised Mac he’d be discreet.

 

Hurrying, he checks his gun before slipping the Glock 19 into the back of his jeans making sure it’s covered by his shirt, the cool feel of it against his spine is comforting. Clicking the remote over his shoulder, John rushes to the club’s backdoor hearing the little chirrup of noise as the vehicle locks behind him. Even with lights flashing and siren wailing, his foot heavy on the gas, it’s still taken over 40 minutes to cross nearly two counties since he’d gotten Mac’s call.  Fortunately, he'd still been up and dressed only needing to slip his boots on before heading out his front door.  Guilt ripples heavily through his gut and sends bile hot and burning up his throat. He swallows hard, pushing it back down, leaving a vile acidic taste in his mouth.

 

It’s official. He’s an ass. A giant fucking ass.

 

So caught up in trying to suppress…whatever and keep things professional between he and Derek, that he’s ended up being an absolute failure as a boss, pack mate and friend. The disappointment he feels at his own behaviour sits heavy in the pit of his stomach, the cruel ache devastating and he can’t help but think over all the choices and decisions he’s made in relation to the younger man and wants to punch himself in the face.  Hard.

 

Stiles had once told him that Derek more than likely had PTSD and triggers that could set him off and react with coping mechanisms that were disturbing to even consider, yet he’d chosen to not press the younger man about counselling considering his initial Departmental psych evaluation had come back without any red flags.

 

He’d selfishly not wanted to think his son could be right about this because he’d so badly wanted Derek on his team, an officer with links to the supernatural in a town that drew supernatural forces to it in spades, hell yes. He’d have to be crazy not to want him and after four years of working so closely with his Deputy and none of the warnings Stiles had given seeming to come to pass, he’d let his guard down and relaxed.

 

Still, how could he have been so fucking self-absorbed not to realise that this morning’s fire would bring back a hell of a lot of issues for the younger man whether he suffered PTSD or not? He winces at the memory of his harsh words and the threat he’d made of suspending Derek brought on by fear. Had he contributed even more to Derek’s distress? More than likely. Yeah, he’s a major ass and Derek’s paying for that stubborn selfish blindness.

 

The thumping, pulsing beat that bleeds through the door is loud even out here in the dark alley and he wonders how anyone can hear anything inside. John shifts restlessly from foot to foot as he pounds heavily on the door with his clenched fist, making sure he’s heard. He needs to get in there. Needs to find him, before…his mind shuts down, not wanting to follow through on that train of thought. The door swings wide almost instantly as though whoever opened it was merely waiting on the other side just for him. He pauses a moment to take in the sight of the man-mountain filling the door frame.

 

Makanui ‘Mac’ Hanohano is big all over, from his height 6’4 to his broad shoulders and wide chest, his black intricate tribal tattoos flow down his bronzed powerful arms from beneath the short sleeves of his black t-shirt and rise out of the neckline to swirl up his huge neck and over his scalp. The military grade cut of his hair so close cropped that the ink work is still visible.

 

He’s handsome in the way so many of Pacific islander descent are, strong ageless features with warm brown eyes and a white flashing smile that doesn’t need anything amusing to bring it out, it’s just there by default. John knows that he’s actually Hawaiian by birth and distantly related somehow to the Mahealani clan of Beacon Hills, a second or third cousin.

 

“Thanks for calling me. Is he still here?” John asks apprehensively, holding his breath until the other man nods.

 

“I’ve put him downstairs. Not so busy at the moment.” Mac says, eyeing John speculatively. “He’s not been here for years, but people who come here…the regulars, they’ve got long memories and I’ve not seen him like this before. Got this look in his eyes and either they’ll eat him alive—“ He tilts his rock-like chin towards the thrum of noise behind him. “–or someone’ll get hurt.”

 

“Bad day.” John murmurs and Mac simply nods his massive head accepting the explanation without comment and John catches a glimpse of the matt black coms piece he has lodged in his ear.

 

He’s known Mac for a while, even before he went a few years ago around to the clubs that were on Stiles’ list of Derek's favourites and spoke to each of their Heads of Security. Guilt curdles sourly in his stomach. He’d always believed that the reason he’d placed the unofficial BOLO with them was more to get Stiles off his back than any true belief in what his son had been implying. Now he wonders if maybe he'd been denying his feelings even then, because if he acknowledged the truth of it he would've had to act and he hadn't been ready for that not by a long shot, asking for a heads up on the remote chance that Derek would even go to one of these places for...for that seemed the lesser of two evils.

 

A few he’d had to threaten, using his badge as a weapon in the face of their disinterest, only a couple like Mac were willing to co-operate with his request, no questions asked. Looking back now, one or two, he suspects may have…he breaks off that train of thought, but can’t help asking. “You never—“

 

Mac gives John a look so dark that his gun hand automatically slides to his hip before he remembers his Department issued M&P 9 is in his gun safe at home. His only protection from the other man sits snug against the small of his back and from the way Mac follows his movements, if he dares make a move towards it, it’s not going to be pretty.  Not that John would hesitate if it was warranted, but strangely the bigger man's reaction is reassuring and he lets his hands drop and hang loosely at his sides.

 

It’s easy to forget that Mac’s dangerous with his open face and warm smile, John’s background check on the man when he’d first encountered him had been enlightening when his military record came back as sealed, which practically screamed that the big man was ex-black ops. Why he was working security in a second-rate club instead of his pick of consulting jobs or private contracting was anyone’s guess, but John was grateful none the less that the man happened to work here. Dangerous he may be, but John had never doubted the code of honour the bigger man followed, which had resulted in the late night phone call he’d received from him not once, but twice now for different reasons.

 

“Nah brah. He’s pretty, but he’s broke in here.” Mac lifts a large paw and places it on his barrel-chest, over his heart. “And I’m not good at fixing things, maybe you are.” He quirks an eyebrow at the choked noise of denial that John makes. “Or maybe you’re not, but I think you want to be…for him.”

 

John clenches his jaw tight at the rush of mixed emotions that floods through him.

 

“Take me to him.” As an afterthought he grinds out “Please.”

 

Mac’s smile is once again wide and good humoured at his discomfort as he turns and holds the door open for John to follow him making him wonder why he actually likes the guy. His annoyance is forgotten as he’s instantly buffeted by the pounding beat of music, at least that’s what he thinks it is, it’s definitely not his choice, not Led Zep, Aerosmith or the Boss. It’s an electronic techno beat, the squealing pitch of it skewers him straight through the middle of his forehead making him wince.

 

The corridor is short and dark until they walk through a second door. Lights flash brightly, blinding him momentarily and it’s pure instinct that has him following the other man through the crowd. Mac’s size and presence is enough to have people step aside without him saying a word and John’s towed along, caught up in his wake.

 

When John’s eyes finally adjust, he’s able to look beyond the white block lettered SECURITY that’s printed on the back of Mac’s black t-shirt. He can see that the interior of the building has been gutted, leaving an upscale VIP mezzanine area that overlooks the massive dance area on the ground floor. A number of people stand at the balcony railing, sipping their drinks and watching the writhing, cavorting mass of bodies in the pit like vultures. There’s almost a frenzy on this level of those seeking to catch someone’s eye from above and be summoned to the upper circle.

 

The busy bar to his left runs the length of the wall, it hurts his eyes to look at it. The liquor bottles, glasses and mirrors are lit up by ultraviolet lights reflecting harshly and the bartenders look dangerously feral, their teeth gleam whitely as they pour shots and snatch at the bills thrust towards them with grasping hands. The floor beneath his feet is sticky with God knows what, he really doesn’t want to think about it too much, the soles of his boots catching with every step.

 

Mac skirts the edge of the dance floor to the right, leading him to the furthest darkest corner where stairs lead downwards. People brush against John, press into him, and the air is so thick and heavy with sweat, perfume and alcohol he feels like he’s choking with every breath.

 

He’s so wildly out of place here. His age. His clothes. Casual in his shit-kicker boots, jeans and wheat coloured Henley, the sleeves pushed up his forearms. It all marks him as the odd one out amongst the tidal wave of the young and the beautiful rippling around him. He has no illusions about his own appeal, rough and care-worn, so it’s a shock when he feels multiple hands stroking over his body as they push through the crowd, breasts nudging into his arm on one side and a solid erection grinding into his hip on the other. It’s claustrophobic and he fights the instinct to push them away violently, instead keeps moving forward until they fall away.

 

For an instant he can smell the sweetness of marijuana as they approach the stairs, residual he thinks, but that’s probably the very least of what’s been offered and taken by the club-goers that surround him with their blown pupils and slack mouths. It’s near enough impossible to stop the trade and John doesn’t know if he’s becoming too weary and jaded because he believes in some respects if it’s going to happen, it’s better here where help is close at hand than out on the street.  And there would be help here, of that he’s positive, because Mac keeps a close, watchful eye on everyone and everything. His team is well-trained and professional. John’s asked around and there’s been no violence, drug-related deaths or sexual assaults reported at Inferno since he took on the job of Head of Security.

 

Standing at the top of the stairs, blocking them, is another member of security, dressed in the same uniform of black cargoes and t-shirt. Slightly smaller than Mac, he looks no less intimidating for it though. He carries himself like a fighter, light on his feet, loose in the shoulders and arms. Boxer, John thinks, seeing the kink in his nose from an old break, the callused knuckles and the line of hairless skin at his wrists worn away from the constant use of strapping. Mac leans down and the other man says something into Mac’s ear that John can’t hear over the noise. Mac nods, but his mouth goes tight and John feels his belly clench. He knows it’s not good, but he can’t bring himself to ask.

 

The lighting is soft in the stairwell, a relief after what they’d just walked through. The music muffled, just a throb of vibration in the air, he can still feel it pulse in his chest like a second heartbeat. It’s another world. The dark shadows subtle and soothing after the streaking, flashing lights and within them he sees bodies writhing in the twist and grind of pleasure and pain. He scrutinises carefully for anything even remotely non-consensual, aware that Mac's doing the exact same thing from the movement of his head, before eventually averting his eyes from couples, even some three or foursomes, that are outright sucking and fucking in corners and little alcoves as they descend. It’s a primal reaction to the sights and sounds he tells himself, when his dick twitches against his zipper and his balls tighten.

 

Eventually, Mac stops and John peers around him to see a queue leading to the door marked ‘Devils’, the corresponding one on the opposite side is marked ‘She-devils’. The small orderly queue contains a couple of males, females and some that John would be hard pressed to categorize as either, a curiously attractive blending of both sexes.   He gives Mac a questioning look.

 

“It’s been a while since he’s been here, but he’s a bit of a legend, they call him ‘the dude’. They say he’s that good…we’re lucky more people haven’t recognised him. He only does so many and there’s been fights before.” The big man says gruffly, almost apologetically as John’s eyes go wide with understanding. Rage burns through his veins, Mac’s bigger than him, but so have been a lot of other guys he’s taken out. John launches himself across the corridor, quickly backing him up into an alcove out of sight of curious eyes, pinning the larger man with a handful of his t-shirt in his fist. Getting into his face.

 

“What the hell?” John spits out furiously. “You didn’t stop him.”

 

“If I’d tried to stop him, he would’ve left and gone somewhere else. Somewhere where nobody would be looking out for him, another club or out on the street.”

 

That Mac is so reasonable provokes him, what’s worse is that John recognises the truth of it.  A dangerous fury uncoils and smoulders within John’s chest, it’s tinged with guilt because if anyone should have Derek’s back it should be him. The edge of his vision is white with rage. Derek’s in that bathroom doing God knows what, his fists clench even tighter around the black cotton until they ache, he shudders trying to control the urge to kill someone or at the very least do some serious damage.

 

“I’ve protected him from those that would do him irreparable harm. Now let go of me.” There’s a grinding edge in Mac’s formal tone, a distinct change to his voice and his manner of speech, that feels like he’s no longer talking to the happy, laid-back islander, he’s another man entirely, one that’s almost at the point of pushing back. As he stares into the face of the other man, he sees a shift within his features, no longer amiable and smiling, but a grim dark visage that watches him like he’s making a mental list of all of John’s weak points before he strikes. It tells John this man has seen and done things he probably doesn’t want to think about. But, then again so has he.

 

Mac points towards the corridor. “We both know what he is, you would have my men hurt, the people out there hurt trying to keep him where he doesn’t wish to be.” John’s breath catches at his words. “When you cage a wild wolf, it **_will_** find a way to tear out your throat.”

 

Mac’s eyes are black pools and John thinks for one split-second he sees pinpoints of ruby red flare deep within them before being extinguished by a cool blink of his eyelids. It’s not the Alpha red he’s used to, it’s something else. Something else entirely and a small frisson of fear has John jerking the other man forward before slamming him back into the wall, entirely positive that he’s being humoured by Mac in allowing him to do so.  

 

“Who are you? What are you?” His Glock is somehow in his hand and pointing at the bridge of Mac’s nose, because over time he’s learned that a head shot doesn’t always kill, but it sure can slow some things down.

 

“A friend.” John’s eyebrows lift. “One, who’s been repaying a debt that I can never discharge.” There’s a stark truth woven into his words that makes John pause. “Your pack saved my…my cousin from a dark one.”

 

John’s mind races, back to those horror-filled days of the Darach, when mistletoe was no longer a cheerful holiday decoration, but a weapon. A poison. He slowly releases his hold and steps back.

 

“Danny?”

 

The briefest flicker of emotion crosses the big man’s face before he nods warily. Cousin…hah, John’s lily-white ass, what he just saw, that momentary glimpse of tenderness, indicates that Stiles’ old classmate is a whole lot more to this man than a mere distant relation.

 

“Danny’s at Berkley isn’t he? Reasonably close by for a concerned…’cousin’ to keep tabs on him.” That Mac clenches his jaw so hard it bulges fiercely is answer enough. He doesn’t get the vibe that the big man wants to hurt the boy…young man he remembers, if anything it’s protective. Something he can sure as hell relate to.

 

“Irreparable harm you said…hunters?…the not human?…am I right?” Mac’s silence speaks volumes and John’s pretty sure he’ll probably never know the full story, but right now he doesn’t have the time to second-guess himself. His first priority is getting Derek out of that bathroom and out of here.

 

“Good enough.” Turning on his heel John doesn’t wait for a reply or even to see if Mac’s following him and moves back into the corridor, slipping the Glock back into his jeans and flipping his shirt over it.

 

As he rounds the corner, the bathroom door opens and a young woman stumbles out. Even in the dim light he can see that her pretty face is flushed, brunette hair tousled wildly, lips puffy and ripe. The lower one caught between white even teeth. She smooths down the hem of her dress with shaking hands stopping in front of the man at the head of the line. He’s good-looking in a blonde, clean cut Abercrombie & Fitch way, like he’s just stepped off a College campus.

 

“Oh my God. You were right. His mouth…and that tongue.” She purses her lips and blows out a sultry breath before giggling wildly. “Thanks for the tip.”

 

He’s not so pretty when his blue eyes flash with something dark and ugly, he’s older than John initially thought by a good ten years, the way his lips twist into a cruel smirk draws out the finer age lines either side of his mouth. John wants to punch him hard when he lifts his hand to the woman and they high five each other. “I told you he was a slut for it. Doesn’t care who…he’s always gagging for it and I’m gonna give it to him.” He crudely cups his groin and John’s vision goes white edged with burning fury.

 

John grabs the man’s arm and he wonders how did he even get here, doesn’t even remember moving and yet here he is, hauling the bastard back so he can’t enter the bathroom. The other man turns swinging a fist, snarling “Fuck off. It’s my turn.”

 

John instinctively ducks and his hand slides down the arm he has hold of, to bracelet the wrist with his long fingers and he twists, with his other he grips the man’s shoulder and within a split-second has that arm extended out and back, forcing the younger man to hunch over to take the pressure off his shoulder joint or risk dislocating it. The urge to push just a fraction harder on the hand he’s holding in hyperextension, the fingers angling unnaturally as though trying to touch the back of the man’s arm, and snap the bones in his wrist is very nearly overwhelming. Ignoring the screaming, John breathes deeply through his flaring nostrils, chest heaving, trying desperately to control himself. He feels dangerous, is dangerous to anyone that tries to keep him from the man in the other room.

 

Looking at the people that are lined up ready to take advantage of another human being’s weakness he can feel the disgust rise from deep in his belly.

 

“Leave.”

 

He doesn’t recognise the sound of his own voice in that one word. It’s so cold, so deadly he would frighten himself if he cared. So he’s not surprised when they scurry away, eyes wide and mouths gaping as they veer around him, giving him as much space as they possibly can.

 

Before he kills him, John lets go of the young man with a not so gentle push. Staggering away whimpering, he cradles his hand as he spits out defiantly “Fuck you. We’re not doing anything wrong, he wants it. Do you get that? He. Wants. It.”

 

Beyond words, John snarls and takes a step towards him and the younger man squeals and scuttles backwards, half-tripping before he flees back up the stairwell, glancing over his shoulder as though afraid John’s going to follow him and beat him to death with his bare hands. The punk’s got good instincts because it’s tempting, so very tempting. John’s breathing hard and fast, because as much as it infuriates him, there’s a grain of truth in what the little fucker said. The anger and frustration coiled tight within himself is dangerously at the point of unravelling, but he can’t see Derek like this.

 

Thank Christ, he’s learned a few things helping Stiles with his panic attacks because at the moment he feels close to the furthest edge of his control, an edge that he'd never known was there. He’s always prided himself on his self-control, on his ability to stay cool in any situation, but Derek is a volatile wild card to his emotional playing deck and shreds his composure and restraint all too easily. He runs his hand over his face, covering his mouth, fingers splayed over his jaw as he tries to calm down, timing the feel of his moist warm breath on his palm bringing it down to an even rhythm. Slowly he feels steadier.

 

“If you ever want a change from law enforcement come look me up.” John flashes Mac a warning glare not in the mood for being mocked and the bigger man smiles broadly, once more the stereotypical jovial islander, his face no longer promising death, and holds his hands up in the air in surrender. “Serious brah…you got the moves.”

 

“Yeah, I got the moves.” The words spill from his lips bitterly. He looks at the closed door and feels his shoulders slump. His chest feeling heavy and achy. “Tell me. What do I do now?”

 

Mac places a massive hand on his shoulder and squeezes remarkably gently for someone his size.

 

“Home. That’s what your boy needs. You take him home.”

 

For some reason John thinks Mac’s talking about more than simply taking Derek back to his loft, that it's something other than a physical location, but it makes him think about **_‘his boy’_** being in **_his_** house and he struggles to suppress a shiver through his body. Derek’s been there plenty of times with some of the other Deputies for dinner and poker nights, sometimes to watch a game-it didn’t matter which sport, before John made it awkward for them both. He can’t deny that he likes it when Derek’s there, but in a more permanent way? Just the two of them? He swallows hard, the muscles in his belly twitching in anticipation and he forces himself to put those crazy, tempting thoughts to the back of his mind.

 

Pushing the door open, he steps into the bathroom and wants to immediately turn around again. The fluorescent light is harsh and damning as it shines on the filth on the floor, shoe prints of grime and whatever that sticky stuff on the dance floor was mark the tiles, wet clumps of used paper towels that have missed the bin entirely are scattered around, there’s water and other fluids he daren’t examine too closely in puddles under the urinal trough and the smell hits him like a punch to the nose. It’s the musk of sex and sweat, stale perfume and the pungent artificial floral scent of the blue disinfectant cakes mingling with ammonia, from the remnants of piss that sits in the bottom of the trough. He winces. If it feels like it’s scouring the nerve endings in his nasal passages raw, then what must it be like for Derek with his extreme senses?

 

Of the three cubicles at the far side of the room, one of them has the door closed. John moves to stand in front of it, hands gripping the frame either side. His knuckles turn white and his fingers ache from the pressure. He needs to get Derek out of here right now. Can’t bear the thought of him here any longer.

 

“You shouldn’t be here.” Derek’s voice is angry, with a thready, reedy pitch to it and John needs to see him more than he needs to breathe air. Needs to see that he’s okay with his own eyes.

 

“Open the door.” He demands grimly, staring at the black panel wishing he could see through it. There’s a shaky huff from the other side and it’s a long agonizing couple of minutes where he’s almost at the point of breaking the door down, before he hears scraping and then a loud click as the catch is pulled back. John’s pushing it open before he can stop himself, before he can think that maybe he needs to go slow and not like a bull at a gate, but the urgency to see the other man is just too great.

 

Derek’s huddled over, sitting on the floor in front of the toilet. His arms draped over the top of his denim-clad knees, chin tucked down into his chest, eyes focused on the tiles between his shoes. John winces as he recognises the 1000 yard stare he’d only seen on battle weary troops etched on Derek’s face.

 

The stained white tank top he wears shows off his powerful shoulders and arms, his broad chest that narrows to the sculpted lean line of his torso, while the low scoop neck reveals a spray of fine dark hair on his chest and his beautifully formed collarbones that somehow look fragile on his strong muscular body. His hair is tousled and sticking out in some parts like it’s been pulled on and his lips are lushly red and ripe, stubble glistening moistly around his mouth and John’s stomach contracts and twists painfully when he realises what it is. The memory of the girl tugging at the hem of her dress when she came out of here flashing through his mind like a slashing razor.

 

Derek shifts restlessly and John can see a glint of something metallic at the man’s waist. Derek’s blue jeans are secured with a thick black leather belt, the silver buckle polished and sparkling. It’s not tarnished or smeared. It looks untouched, not a fingerprint on it and it gets John to thinking. Something that Stiles said when he’d first brought up Derek’s coping mechanisms, that he doubted that the man even got hard when he was doing these things. John hadn’t bought it at the time, although right now he wishes he’d taken it all more seriously, looked into it more closely, but even back then thinking about Derek with someone else had him angry and on edge when he didn’t have any right to be. It hadn’t made sense, just another way to get off surely, but seeing the evidence in front of him right now, Derek’s jeans zipped up tight, belt securely buckled and that there are no stains or damp patches around his groin, he feels sucker-punched with painful epiphany when he realises that Derek doesn’t do this for pleasure, to satisfy some kinky urge.

 

It’s punishment.

 

Derek lifts his gaze to meet his eyes, shielding himself behind the long dark fringe of his lashes, and John realises that he must’ve made some sort of noise of denial because those beautiful eyes that he’s never been able to allocate a colour to, green or hazel is just too bland, are red-rimmed and defiant. Behind the defiance is a well-spring of pain and hurt that’s so deep, so clearly visible to John, it’s like a veil’s been lifted, he can feel his own eyes well up wondering if it’s always been there and he’s just never seen. Maybe he didn’t want to. Preferred the happy ending that he’d believed was Derek’s for so long, of a fulfilling job and pack ties that were almost familial. That he wasn’t hurting any more.

 

Seeing him like this surrounded by filth, debauched and stained, feels like a blunt knife being pushed deep into John’s chest and violently twisted for maximum damage. For all that he sees outwardly, the powerful athletic frame, the stunning good looks, he can sense a vulnerability, an inherent goodness not totally destroyed in the younger man behind the protective emotional walls he’s built and it makes him the most beautiful damaged creature he’s ever seen. John’s hands start to shake.

 

“You shouldn’t have come.” Derek grinds out again, voice hoarse and ragged.

 

“Oh kid. What are you doing?” John says sadly and Derek looks away, biting his lower lip, his fingers clench into tight fists. John aches for him and has to push down the swelling emotion that threatens to overwhelm him, otherwise he won’t be any good for the young man in front of him. Iron control firmly back in place, he extends his now steady hand, reaching out.

 

“I’m not a kid.” Derek says turning back, fists releasing to hang loosely at his knees.

 

John sees the tired resignation on Derek’s face and in the slump of his body and realises that the other man’s right. Derek’s not a kid. He’s a survivor.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek's confused and desperate, he's never wanted John to know what he has to do to cope with his past, but he's here and there's nowhere for Derek to hide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your support.
> 
> *** A warning in that while Derek's actions aren't described graphically or in detail there is enough to make it disturbing for some readers - as always protect your emotional and mental health and proceed with caution. ***
> 
> Unbeta'ed.

When the brunette finally left, flushed and trembling, a sneer on her lips praising him for being a ‘good little cunt-licker’, Derek desperately wanted to wash her juices from his face. It had felt good to deny the urge though, to let the stain that he felt deep inside become a reality on his flesh.

 

That was his only satisfaction, no matter what his collaborators thought or imagined he gained from their interactions. He never cleaned up in between them, letting their slick juices, thick come and saliva build up into layers until he could literally be peeled like an onion. Somehow it felt that with those layers he had a shield to wrap around himself, like a Teflon blanket and the stark horror of his family’s murder that he lived with every day could slide right off.

 

That he needed to debase himself to get the peace his body and mind craved no matter how brief, to mark himself with the very thing he’d been so desperate for at 16 was somehow fitting. Back then, he’d let his hormonal teenage body overrule the head on his shoulders, just so he could bury his cock in Kate Argent’s hot, wet cunt and everyone he loved had died. He’d literally killed his family with his dick.

 

With a heavy sigh, Derek pulls himself up using the washbasin he’d propped the woman against as leverage, his knees aching from the pressure of kneeling on the hard tiled floor even through the thick denim of his jeans. It swiftly dissipates and he stretches wearily watching his reflection follow his movements in the long mirror above the row of washbasins. A grimace distorts his mouth. It’s a false image that he sees, the wild dishevelled hair, pale skin with a pink blush on his cheeks and lips puffy and swollen red would all normally be seen as signs of passion, of desire, but here in this hateful room under the harsh fluorescent lights Derek sees only the evidence of his guilt, the exertion of self-abasement.

 

At least the crawling itch under his skin was easing and the screams of his family in his head weren’t quite as loud, fading as if their demands for justice and retribution were being satisfied by each and every cock and cunt he licked and sucked as penance. Each one done with a skilled thoroughness that drew moaning curses and out of control wails from the people who entered the many bathrooms he’d serviced in over the years. There was no physical pleasure or release for himself, his own cock remained limp the entire time and he was grateful, he didn’t deserve to feel anything but relief that his atonement was accepted.

 

In the times he’d done this, some had pushed him down to his knees, some had slapped him around a bit or yanked at his hair so hard that his eyes watered and called him names…slut, fag, whore, cocksucker and that was okay, because he could despise them as much as himself. It was the ones who stroked his hair softly as he went down on them or cupped his cheek gently as he swallowed them deep that were harder to cope with.

 

For each loss he allowed himself to be used. When he’d first started, it had only been for the original members of his family. Mom, Dad, Daniel, Cora, Diana, Aunt Victoria, Uncle Nathan and his baby cousin, Lucinda. They had only been the beginning. He didn’t like to think about Peter now, even though he’d been in the original group, he’s not been included in the equation for a long time.

 

Sometimes he thinks this is the only way he can deal with the things he does. The wolf and the man torn by what he needs, by what he recognises as a complex troubled human mind and a fractured emotional core demands, but even in a pack disobedient or dangerous wolves are punished or worse. So while his canine instincts dislike the intimate contact with those not worthy of pack bonds, his wolf, base and pragmatic, understands the requirement. To a point. Which is why he’d never gone beyond oral sex. The thought of opening himself, to being so completely vulnerable to these…people makes him shudder.

 

It somehow becomes easier when he narrows it down to a practical formula, a distant calculation of losses. It’s such a simple math calculation and as he sucks and licks and swallows, he lets it run through his mind, the rhythm of it calming the turbulent emotions that lash at him, heart and soul.

 

8 + 1, Laura. For not being at her side when she needed him most. Equals 9.

 

9 + 1, Erica. For not being a good enough Alpha and keeping her safe. Equals 10.

 

10 - 1, Cora. A sister found. Equals 9.

 

9 + 1, Boyd. For not being strong enough to stop them from skewering his loyal Beta on his claws. Equals 10.

 

10 + 1, Cora. For not being the brother she needed or deserved so she would stay. Equals 11.

 

11 + 1, Isaac. For driving away the Beta that needed him most of all. Equals 12.

 

Twelve times. Twelve times on his knees, the penitent seeking absolution for all his many failings.

 

The taste in his mouth is becoming more and more bitter by the moment. He spits on the floor, it’s filthy enough not to matter, only nine to go.

 

He idly wonders for a moment why it’s gone so quiet outside in the passageway, why no one’s burst in demanding he get on his knees or open his mouth wide. Normally, he could hear the gossip and speculation that his atonement generated, he knew they called him ‘the dude’ which he hates violently, but now...there’s nothing. Then he hears it. One word spoken so coldly, with such chilling murderous intent that Derek shivers uncontrollably.

 

“Leave.”

 

Horror wells within him. Even through the killing frost that coats it, he recognises the voice. There’s a roaring in his ears and it sounds like a freight train barrelling down the tracks, in reality he recognises if for the instinctive rush of blood racing through his body. Adrenalin spikes, panic flares and Derek looks wildly around the bathroom for an exit that he knows isn’t there and curses himself for a fool, for becoming complacent. Because what if it hadn’t been **_him_** , but hunters that had cornered him here. Stumbling to the cubicle, he locks himself in and crouches on the floor, jagged huffs of hysterical laughter leaving him breathless. The big bad werewolf cowering from the all too human Sheriff.

 

He can’t bear to see the look of disappointment on John’s face, it would kill him. His disapproval he could maybe tolerate, but his disappointment was something that Derek wasn’t entirely sure he could live with. His legs feel weak and when he hears the bathroom door creak open, they give way completely and he ends up sitting on his ass in a graceless sprawl.

 

Anger has him grinding his teeth and he doesn’t know who it’s aimed at more. John, himself, the people who pass through the bathroom or further back to Kate and her manipulations or even his family who didn’t notice the growing distance between them as he was constantly distracted by her mouth. Whether it was teasing her ‘puppy’ with what he’d thought were endearments at the time or **_teasing_** him with soft lips and wet tongue until he couldn’t stand it anymore and flipped her over onto her hands and knees, fucking her hard and fast while she laughed.

 

Anger drives him to speak and break the silence knowing that John’s standing on the other side of the door.

 

“You shouldn’t be here.” Cringing, Derek can’t believe that thin screech came from him. God he sounds like a child. A petulant, sulky child who’s been caught out in a trap of his own making. He wipes at his eyes, dashing away the moisture.

 

His mortification is complete when he opens the door at John’s order and sees the older man looking down at him with pity in his eyes. To Derek, John looks as strong and commanding as he always does even stripped of his uniform and badge. In simple blue jeans and shirt, the sleeves pushed up to expose tanned corded forearms, he can feel his heartbeat speed up and the butterflies in his belly flutter wildly out of control at how they make him even more ruggedly handsome.

 

There’s power and authority in him, it’s obvious in the unconscious way he carries himself, his time in the Corps has given him a spine of tungsten steel and a look in his cool blue eyes that warns don’t mistake compassion for weakness. John Stilinski is dangerous, particularly when it concerns those he cares about which obviously includes each and every one of his deputies. Why else would he be here?

 

John holds his hand out. “Come on.”

 

Derek studies that strong, capable hand for a long moment, sees the calluses and scars and looks beyond it. Piercing blue eyes have shuttered over and he can’t tell what the other man’s thinking, what he’s feeling and it makes him nervous. John’s heartbeat is a steady rhythm and he’s close enough that Derek can scent him over the other vile odours in the room, his scent is a powerful blend, the fiery spice of old anger and the tart citrus sourness of sorrow.

 

Derek reaches out, fingertips brushing John’s and he swears he can hear the sizzle and snap of it before their palms press tightly together, their fingers curling around each other’s hand. Holding on tight. It’s been so long since they touched voluntarily, skin on skin, he can’t remember it ever feeling like this. Like he’s grabbed hold of a live wire, an electric current sparking over his flesh, making the hair on his arms stand on end and he wonders if it’s just him until he hears a faint hiss escape John’s slightly parted lips.

 

He lets himself be pulled up and they’re standing close in the confined space, almost chest to chest and he can feel John’s body radiating warmth between them, feels the prickling heat of a flush scald his cheeks. Derek keeps his eyes fixed on the tanned column of John’s throat and watches entranced with the way his Adam’s apple bobs, the older man swallowing thickly.

 

Abruptly, John drags him out of the cubicle by the hand. At the basin he lets go and grabs a number of paper towels from the dispenser and moistens them under the tap. Holding them out, he snarls, teeth glinting whitely under the stark light. “Clean yourself up.”

 

In the mirror above the basin, he can see the glistening fluids trapped in his stubble around his mouth and chin. John would have absolutely no doubt as to what he’d been doing in here seeing the evidence that marks him so damningly. Derek can see his reflected face flush even deeper before his very eyes, bright red stripes sitting high on his cheekbones and even the tips of his ears glow hotly. Grabbing the paper towels, he presses his face into them, relieved to be able to hide in the wet crush of paper. Every time he thinks he’s done John hands him more, letting the tap run continuously as he soaks them, Derek scrubs at his cheeks until every last droplet that isn’t water is gone.

 

John turns the tap off and scrutinises his face thoroughly. It’s all Derek can do not to fidget and squirm under its intensity, so he grits his teeth and falls back onto the mask he’s worn so often in the past, the one that is rigid and unbending not wanting to give anything of himself away. John watches him steadily and Derek knows he’s not fooling anyone, least of all the man in front of him. Minutes tick by and Derek knows that this is a tactic he’s seen John use many times out on the streets and in the interrogation room, the waiting game. He knows it and practically bites his tongue to fight the urge to talk, can feel the pressure weighing on his shoulders. Tries to fight it so badly and—

 

“I’m not…I didn’t do anything wrong.” Bursts out of him, he can’t explain the need to make him understand, the compulsion that makes his lips part and words fall out, unfiltered. Maybe he’s hung around Stiles too much. “I just…I need to. Okay?”

 

He doesn’t mean it to be a question. Doesn’t mean for it to sound like he’s asking for John’s approval or God forbid, his permission, yet that’s the way it sounds even as he says it and he scowls, frustrated at himself for sounding so weak.

 

“No. **_You_** didn’t do anything wrong.” John’s eyes flash with something dangerous, something deadly behind the ice blue chips that stare into his so intently. “I’m not so sure about some of the people that walked through that door though.”

 

John’s hands land on his shoulders possessively, gripping tight like they’re pulling him out of harm’s way, like they’ll never let him go and Derek holds his breath expectantly. The deliberate touch of bare skin to bare skin shifts and unlocks something deep inside that he’d thought he’d buried away a long time ago, the need to be cherished and valued and kept safe. To be so important to someone that they could forgive anything. He’d not realised the gift of unconditional love and acceptance that his first Alpha, his Mom, had given him until it was too late, after he’d abused it for a second deadly time.

 

He’d suppressed the need for it with his second Alpha, Laura, unsure of her capacity to understand in the face of such terrible loss. The thought of her rejecting him if he’d told her the true reason for their family’s destruction had left him constantly ill and shaking, the more Laura comforted and tended to him the worse it had gotten. With Scott, he’d never even contemplated it in connection with the younger man and he wonders why. Scott’s a compassionate, caring person and he’s exactly the same as Alpha, one who shares his time and affections generously with the pack even weighed down by the responsibilities of his position, study and his internship which is maybe why he’s not been able to turn to him in this way.

 

Yet, these hands feel like they’re offering that gift again and the weight of them, the warmth of them sinks into his flesh and down into his very bones and it feels good, it feels right and he would keep them there forever if he could. He tries to focus on what John’s saying, but it’s so hard, his touch is too distracting, the words coming from a distance even though they’re standing so close.

 

“As for needing it…if it was just sex that would be one thing, but it’s not that for you…it’s wanting to punish yourself—“ Derek jerks violently in shock, his attention instantly drawn to the older man, their eyes locking and Derek can feel his pulse throbbing heavily in the vein at his neck. John holds him tighter and he stills. “ –and that’ll never make it okay.”

 

Derek ducks his head. Is he surprised that John knows what compels him to do the things he does? Not at all. Derek’s witnessed John’s intelligence in action and his uncanny insight into human nature which allows him to understand motive in a manner that sometimes borders on psychic ability. John can pick out a lie quicker than Derek can hear the stutter in the beat of a lying heart. His only blind spot is his son, knowing Stiles for all these years now Derek can understand how he gets away with it. Not only from his quick wit and smart mouth, but his belief in what he says. If Stiles believes what he’s saying is true, regardless of how interpretation might vary, then it’s true. That’s a hard thing to pick up on unless you happen to be able to hear his heartbeat and even then it’s not easy.

 

Does he wish that John hadn’t been able to read him in that manner? Hell, yes. Because the thing that scares him the most is that John will end up turning away from him completely. He’s not sure he could bear that, their borderline estrangement has been bad enough. That he’s come here tonight is good and painful in equal measure, good because it means he cares enough to bother and painful because it leaves Derek vulnerable to something he hadn’t felt in a long, long time. Hope.

 

Hope for something more. Hope that he won’t be alone anymore. He has a pack now and he knows that means technically he’ll never be alone again, and honestly with his pack mates there’s no chance of that happening they’re so nosy and interfering and painfully loving with it that he can’t believe he lucked out and got a second chance. But, when he thinks of being alone these days it’s not that general, it’s so very specific, what he wants more than anything is to share his life with someone special who thinks the same of him and it terrifies him. There’s just been no one he trusts enough, that he wants enough to take the risk.

 

Inhaling deeply he tries to steady himself as the lies he tells himself rock him back on his heels and because they’re standing so close, Derek scents something. It’s emanating from the man in front of him, spiking sharply overwhelming his senses and making Derek’s head spin. He’s had plenty of time over the years to examine the scents of his pack mates, to absorb and identify the different notes that make each of their scents unique to them, to etch them so deeply into his sense memory that he will always be able to track them. John’s has always been a mix of charred oak soaked in whiskey, gun oil and tart citrus. The perfect combination, or so he’d thought. There’s a richer, darker twist to it now, an earthy musk that floods his mouth with saliva and he swallows convulsively as his tongue flickers over the edge of his teeth and feels the sharp prick of his canines that are more prominent than usual.

 

Awareness crashes through his introspection and he realises that John’s still holding him by his shoulders, fingers hooked over and pressing into the musculature of the borderline between shoulder and back. It feels good. Really good, leaving him loose-limbed and weak-kneed.  It’s what his thumbs are doing that’s the real problem though. John’s thumbs are brushing over his collarbones, idly moving back and forth, back and forth. Who knew how sensitive they were to touch? Who knew how damn good it would feel? It’s an intimate caress that has him swallowing heavily, skin rippling with a wave of goose bumps and tingling coursing throughout his body.

 

Light-headed with the surge of blood that jolts through him, rushing southward to uncomfortably plump out his cock beneath the tight fit of his jeans, Derek sways. Head rolling back, lifting his gaze from where he’s fixated by the little ‘v’, formed by the wheat coloured fabric and brown buttons of John’s Henley, that exposes the tanned flesh at the vulnerable hollow of his throat. It’s only then he realises that John’s staring back at him.

 

John’s hooded gaze runs up and down the length of his body and he sees the flicker of the older man’s pink tongue as it swipes over his lower lip. John’s focus is on his chest and when Derek is finally able to drag his eyes away from the moist line of his mouth and look down at himself, he can see that his white singlet is near enough see through with all the water he spilt when he washed his face.

 

The nubs of his nipples are taut and pink through the wet fabric which clings to the ripple of his six pack like a second skin the further down he looks. He’s been on the receiving end of admiring glances before, ones that ranged from shy sideway peeks to outright leering, but John’s gaze is like a physical touch. It feels like a gentle brush over his body and there’s such warm approval in it that Derek’s giddy at the confusing onslaught of embarrassment mixed with an overpowering urge to preen that has him shifting and twitching restlessly.

 

“John.” He says helplessly, voice cracking. John visibly starts at hearing his own name and Derek watches in fascination as a stripe of rosy colour flushes high on John’s cheekbones and the tip of his nose. Almost instantly an unseen shadow crosses his face, a cloud moving across the face of the sun, leaving him pale and his jawline bunched tight with tension. With black hollowed out eyes, John hastily drops his hands from Derek’s shoulders to his sides and Derek mourns the loss, his body feeling colder without the other man’s touch. For one moment, Derek’s positive he’s going to turn from him and walk away without a backward glance, but John pauses drops his chin to his chest for a moment, thinking, before looking back over his shoulder.

 

“That’s the first time you’ve called me by name since I met you.” His voice is soft, but it sounds brittle and his mouth is a grim line.

 

“It’s how I always think of you.” Derek replies honestly before he can even think of how intimate it sounds and his chest spasms in relief when he sees the corners of those lips turn up slightly.

 

“Good.” John nods as he says gruffly “Come on. We’re getting out of here.”

 

As John walks away, Derek reaches out desperately and grabs at his hand. Clutches at it. Anxiety rising within him so hard and fast he feels like he’s drowning in it. The thought of walking back out there without the normal layer of armour that his curtailed activities usually provides is frightening. When he arrives at the club or bar he’s picked out he’s so focused on getting what he needs that he doesn’t worry about anything else and when he’s got what he wants, when he’s paid the price, he’s protected by those layers because he’s atoned to the only people that matter, even if they’re no longer here. The rest no longer matter and if that means he uses them as much as they use him for their own ends, he really doesn’t care.

 

Only he doesn’t have those layers now. What he has is his best friend’s father, who’s his boss and who Derek strongly suspects he has deeper unnamed feelings for. He’s such a fuck up, more than he was at 16, because at least back then it was a disastrous combination of youthful naivety and arrogance that led him to mess up so badly. He’s got no excuse now for falling for someone he shouldn’t. For someone he’s not worthy of.

 

Maybe John can see how agitated he is because he doesn’t pull away and doesn’t mock him for clinging to him like a child, just gently squeezes his hand.

 

“It’s okay.”

 

“It’s just—“ Derek huffs in frustration at himself. He wishes for once in his life that he could just feel normal, like everyone else and not fear the worst every single time, that his failings and his weaknesses will harm those he cares about, but he doesn’t and if he needs to borrow that strength to keep going then he can’t think of anyone more fitting than Sheriff John Stilinski to lean on.

 

“Don’t let go.” He begs roughly.

 

“I’ve gotcha. I won’t let go.” John says firmly, his expression at once kind and reassuring and Derek can feel the tension ease out of his shoulders. One thing he’s learned over the years is that he can count on John to mean what he says. It’s a foundation, a rock that Derek can cling to without worrying that it’ll crumble away from beneath him.

 

Mac’s waiting for them in the hallway and Derek doesn’t need to wonder anymore as to how John found out he was here. Righteous apology is all over the big man’s face as he offers a wary half-smile which vanishes instantly when a rumble vibrates through Derek’s chest and up his throat in a low pissed off growl which cuts off instantly when John squeezes his hand in warning. Because of him John’s seen a side of him that he’d never wanted the other man to know existed.

 

“I thought you understood.” Derek hisses violently, his claws pop involuntarily and he can’t pull them back, but he figures it’s too dark down here for Mac to notice. It’s been a while since he was last here, but from the very first time there’d been an unspoken understanding between them. Mac had taken one look at him and without judgement seemed to see instinctively what he needed, gave him somewhere to go when he had to and didn’t want anything for himself. Derek had appreciated and respected that so much, it was why _Inferno_ had become one of his favourite clubs. It feels like it’s biting him on the ass big time now.

 

John swings around and places his free hand on Derek’s chest as though he could stop him, could stop a mature werewolf from doing whatever the fuck he wanted to. It feels like a weighted brand, burning into his chest and holding him frozen in place, seemingly unable to defy the older man.

 

“He does which is why he called me.” John says sternly. “He did it because I asked him to. I know that this place and a couple of others in this county are your clubs of choice. A reasonable commute yet far enough away that you’d be really, really unlucky to be recognised here or bump into someone back home and all with a large student population who don’t live here permanently so the chances of ever encountering a hook-up again are downright minimal.”

 

Derek starts to shake uncontrollably at the way John lists all his reasons for choosing _Inferno_ , the older man understands him all too well. He doubts anyone else ever has.

 

“You knew.” He shakes his head in disbelief, mind whirling. “How—“ he begins before closing his eyes and breathes out a familiar name. “Stiles.”

 

When he opens them, John’s watching him carefully and Derek can’t read his expression or pick up anything from his scent. It’s painfully neutral and his senses are numb while his brain whirrs over and over _I’m fucked I’m fucked I’m so fucked._ He’ll never be able to show his face in front of the rest of the pack again and wonders if Cora’s heard, because an extended trip to South America was sounding pretty good right about now.

 

“Does anyone else—“ John seems to pick up pretty quick on where Derek’s question is heading and shakes his head.

 

“Just Stiles.” Derek relaxes slightly as John grimaces, eyes rolling. “Stiles has a network of contacts he tells me and he and Mac are apparently like this—“ He crosses the index and middle fingers of one hand and waves them in front of Derek’s face. “–which happens when Stiles tries to get into a club underage, drunk and with a fake ID and ends up befriending the entire security team while they wait for his long-suffering parent to drive over and pick him up at one in the morning.”

 

The big man grins, white teeth flashing. “His face brah, when I pulled him up at the door for being underage—“ Mac chuckles. “His ID said he was Wedge Antilles and all he could say was ‘it worked for Sam Winchester’. He’s a good kid. We keep in touch.” Mac says and John smiles wryly.

 

“That he is. A pain in my ass, but a good kid.” There’s pride threaded through the exasperation in the way he talks about his son and even with his penchant for getting into trouble Derek knows that John wouldn’t change Stiles for the world. None of the pack would. His bravery, loyalty and friendship (even unasked for) makes him one of the best people Derek knows.

 

“He…he didn’t see—“ Derek flicks his hand towards the bathroom door. Waves of nausea roll through him at the thought of Stiles witnessing…that.

 

“No. He heard some things around the club scene and you know what he’s like.” It doesn’t help much, but knowing that Stiles didn’t see anything is a relief. With the things he must’ve heard about him he wonders how he’s ever going to look the younger man in the eye again. John tilts his head thoughtfully. “It doesn’t take much for him to connect the dots and see patterns.”

 

Derek tries to say something, anything, but he feels wounded and exposed, the wound prised wide open so that the pack members he respects the most can see into the core of him and know all the things he’s done. A high pitched whine escapes him and he can’t drag it back in can only let it vibrate painfully in his throat.

 

“Sshh, it’s okay. Sshh.” John soothes. “Do you honestly think he could’ve simply been a bystander to this?” He squeezes his hand again, this time in comfort. “He cares about you too much to let you hurt yourself this way. We all care about you.”

 

“I’m not hurting myself.” Derek says stiffly, his back so rigid it feels like it could snap.

 

“Aren’t you?” John says so gently, so kindly that Derek snaps his mouth shut making it quite clear he doesn’t want to continue the conversation. “If you’re not being hurt and there’s nothing wrong with it, why are you so ashamed?”

 

Pissed that he’s got a point, Derek tries to pull his hand out of John’s warm grasp and for all his supernatural strength, Derek can’t seem to shake him off. Goaded, he bites out. “Why didn’t you say something? Why did you bring me into the Department if you knew how fucked up I am?”

 

“I wasn’t sure in all honesty. At the time, I believed Stiles was genuinely concerned, but I didn’t believe he was right. Stiles said you’d withdraw…you’d quit if I approached you about it, that you wouldn’t be able to stand anyone knowing. Maybe he’s learned something in College after all, because you would’ve, I believe that now.” John pauses for a moment as though expecting Derek to answer, he can’t. Anger and dismay threatens to choke him and all he can do is glare furiously at the other man, not quite sure who he’s more incensed with out of the two of them for poking their noses into his business.

 

John sighs heavily. His thumb rubbing soothingly over the back of Derek’s hand is distracting as all hell and he tries to hold onto his anger, but every time it skims over his flesh he feels calmer. Anchored. It helps level out his wildly fluctuating emotions that leave him shattered and blinking with exhaustion.

 

“Then you passed the psych evals and I thought maybe Stiles was exaggerating and convinced myself that I could keep an eye on you, help you when you needed it. I knew you’d be good at the job and I was selfish enough to want someone who knew what was out there in the dark no matter how fucked up they were. Derek, you’re the best Deputy in the Department. I needed you then and I need you now, but I dropped the ball today. Should’ve known—“

 

The silence extends uncomfortably and all Derek can hear is the muffled duf-duf of music from above them echoing the steady beat of John’s heart.

 

“I’m sorry. This morning was tough on you and I let you down.” John says earnestly. “I thought you were dead Derek and—“ A pained expression flickers over his face for a brief moment before his jaw bunches up tight from where he’s so obviously clenching his teeth. “You scared the shit outta me.” He grinds out.

 

Derek holds his gaze, the last remnants of his anger leaching away completely when he sees the pain there. He feels naked and cold when John lifts his hand off his chest and rubs it over his face wearily, a sneaking satisfaction flaring hotly deep within him, seeing John inadvertently marking himself with Derek’s scent. It chases away that chill.

 

“I don’t think I could live with that.”   John says simply.

 

There’s something in the way he says it that makes Derek think he’s talking about more than a Sheriff losing a Deputy and he feels that wild surge of hope soar again. Tries to tell himself not to be stupid, not to be an idiot, but here he is with a man who’s known all along who he really is and what he’s done, who tried to follow him into the flames and has pulled him back from stepping over that line that he’s criss-crossed so many times in the past. He wants to believe so badly it hurts.

 

Mac’s been a more or less a silent witness to their conversation, his head moving from one to the other listening intently, he takes a step closer to Derek.

 

“When you first came here, I could tell…you had nothing left inside. You were empty and you were looking for a way to make something right and to fill you up again. You were hurting so bad, I knew if I turned you away, you’d go somewhere else where you’d have no one at your back.” He gestures from the bathroom then towards John with a huge paw of a hand. “You might’ve needed this then brah, but you don’t now. Seems to me you’ve got ohana who care about you.”

 

Derek sucks in a shaky breath and he can feel his eyes sting. He’s seen ‘Lilo and Stitch’, Cora and Diana’s favourite Disney film, enough times to know about ‘ohana’ and family and no one getting left behind. John entwines their fingers in a hold that’s intimate as much as it’s comforting as he steps in close, breaking all boundaries of personal space as his other hand wraps possessively around the back of Derek’s neck, drawing his head closer until his right temple touches John’s left. Derek’s eyelids flutter, seeing John’s lips so close is a torment, but he’s simply unable to look away. The older man’s fingertips brush over the short hair at his nape and Derek can’t breathe for the wave of tingling sensation that ripples down his spine and momentarily paralyses all the muscles in his ribcage, voluntary and involuntary, into a frozen exhalation that starves his lungs of oxygen.

 

“Derek you have a pack. A pack that cares for you.” John whispers obviously not wanting Mac to hear, his voice a soft rasp over Derek’s senses, his breath warm and moist against the rim of his ear making him quiver. “A pack that loves you.”

 

He’s suddenly able to breathe again. There’s no skip to John’s heartbeat, no variation in his scent and Derek knows that John isn’t lying, he just wishes the declaration was of a more personal one. One between the two of them.

 

Mac touches the coms at his ear and Derek can hear the man on the other side letting the Head of Security know he’s picked up a guy for unsuccessfully drink-spiking and it’s all caught on security footage. The victim savagely kneeing the guy in the balls and threatening to do worse when Mac’s security team stops her from drinking it. Mac swears under his breath.

 

“Sorry guys, I need to help one of my team. We’ll have to go back the way we came.” Mac says to John, before he leads them back up the staircase.

 

“You knew didn’t you?” John asks Mac and for one long moment Derek doesn’t understand, unlike Mac who pauses on the second step, his massive frame blocking the entire staircase. His eyes flicker over them and he zooms in on the way their hands are clasped tight and the tightness around his eyes eases, a warmth seeping into them.

 

“Knew what Sheriff?”

 

“That I needed to see…to really see and understand.” John replies and Derek gets it then. Gets how John wouldn’t have believed until he’d seen with his own eyes, Derek and the bathroom, the people waiting for him.

 

“You just get your boy home, Sheriff. Back to his pack.” He winks at Derek, not caring that Derek’s blinking back in shock as John smothers a curse under his breath. He knows he should be shocked at the revelation that Mac knows what he is, but it’s the former part of what he said that has his mouth falling open, gaping at him, desperately trying to control his reaction to those words. The wild flutter of longing in his chest, the violent twitch of his cock, the shiver that runs through his body. **_‘Your boy’_** he’d said and Derek wishes with everything he is that it was true.

 

It’s never going to happen though, after well over a decade of making a variety of wishes, prayers and bargains, Derek knows that his are the least likely to ever be granted.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's taken Derek home where he can take care of the younger man who is still reeling from John discovering the truth, but close proximity is a dangerous temptation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the lovely comments.
> 
> Unbeta'ed.
> 
> spoilers in end of chapter notes

 

John parks the SUV in his own driveway, the porchlight he’d left on, a welcome sight after hours on the road. The tension in his shoulders releases and he can finally let go of the steering wheel, he can almost physically feel the weight of Derek’s eyes upon him at his little sigh of relief. The younger man looks pointedly at his house and then back at him, a single eyebrow lifting.

 

“You’re staying here tonight.” The grating rasp from lack of use and weariness in his voice just dares Derek to defy him because John feels like he’s been pushed and pulled by his own emotions and the events of the night and he’s right on the edge of a massive blow up. The volatility he feels simmering away inside him feels dangerous and out of control. It’s a struggle to rein it back in

 

Maybe Derek’s aware of it, the way his nostrils flare and he shifts slightly in his seat, leaning closer to the door even as he scowls fiercely, not saying a word, annoyance clearly written on his face with deep frowning lines. Seeing the other man pull away is gutting, as if John could ever hurt him, but then how can he expect Derek to trust him when he’s never been completely honest with him. 

 

Bitterness has him snorting.  “Seriously? Did you think I was just going to drop you at your loft and run?”

 

The pinched look around Derek’s mouth is answer enough as his lips start to part.

 

“Don’t answer that.” John snaps, watching his stubborn Deputy and the way his jaw bulges as he clenches it tight. The younger man determinedly ignoring him, gets out of the vehicle. Cursing John follows, more worried than pissed off at the way Derek sways slightly next to him, pale under the porch light, as John unlocks the front door.

 

Derek stumbles on the raised step as John holds open the door to his home. It’s startling to witness as Derek’s control of his body and seemingly effortless agility has always been of a preternatural level and John may be exhausted, seeing as midnight is long since gone, but his reflexes still kick in. Quick enough to grab Derek’s elbow, through the light blue ‘shock’ blanket John always keeps in his vehicle for victims, and stopping him from falling flat on his face.

 

John wraps an arm around Derek’s waist guiding him into the hallway, he doesn’t fight the instinctive need to protect and care for him. Truth be told, he doesn’t want to, he’s tired, so very tired of trying to fight the feelings that the younger man evokes in him, so it burns when Derek leans into him for the briefest of moments, a more than welcome weight pressing into his body, before stiffening and abruptly holding himself away. John clenches his teeth together and fights the urge to haul the other man into his side and just keep him there, tells himself he’s not that _guy_ even though a primal voice whispers at the back of his mind that maybe he is.

 

Kicking the door closed behind him. John leads Derek up the stairs and into the bathroom. Apart from the barest minimal conversation on the road home, Derek’s been quiet and docile from the moment that John had wrapped him in the blanket and pushed him into the passenger seat of his SUV, practically tucking him in. It’s unnerving. Derek’s not a motor mouth, but he’s not mute either.  Before things became FUBAR, they'd had many wide-ranging conversations from sport to politics to modern history and John’s discovered that Derek can be extremely passionate about the subjects he’s interested in, not to mention humorous with a dry, understated wit that often catches him by surprise and leaves him choking for air. John curses under his breath, it’s his fault that the distance he’d believed was necessary has created this uncomfortable atmosphere between them, all the mistakes he’s made in relation to Derek seem glaringly obvious under the oppressive weight of silence, but he’ll never believe that pulling the younger man out of that foul bathroom is one of them.

 

He knows Derek’s had one hell of a day though. They both have, so intense emotionally and physically he thanks God this is their official day off for both of them. He slants a quick sideways glance at the dark-haired man. For all that Derek’s being seemingly obedient and co-operative, there’s a tension that crackles between them that hints of unspoken things and it makes the hair on the nape of John’s neck stand on end. He ignores it by keeping busy.

 

Standing in the bathroom John grabs a new toothbrush, still in its packaging, from a side drawer, before pulling out a couple of clean towels from the cabinet under the washbasin. They’re a little bit rough, a little bit scratchy. He wishes for a moment that he knew how Stiles always managed to get them so soft and fluffy, before telling himself to stop being an idiot, they’re clean which is what counts. Sitting them on the bathroom countertop he turns back to Derek who’s standing in the middle of the room slowly tugging the blanket from his shoulders. The expression on his face or more the lack of one gives John pause and he watches as Derek neatly folds the blanket and holds it out without saying a word. John takes it, distantly noticing there’s a little hole on one edge like the fabric’s caught on something and pulled a thread. He tucks it under his arm as he examines the other man closely.

 

Derek’s eyes are dark ringed and his face pale, lips pressed together in a thin line. No longer angry and defiant, numb is the only word that springs to John’s mind to describe that look, he can only hope that the little he can offer - some company, a hot shower and a safe place to rest - will help take away that bleak expression. John allows his eyes to drift downwards and his belly goes tight and he tries to keep the contents of his stomach where they belong when he sees the tank top Derek’s wearing. It’s like a slap in the face, a punch to the gut. The stains on it are a horrible reminder of what Derek’s been doing to himself and he wants to hit something so bad, his knuckles ache in anticipation.

 

“Have a shower. Brush your teeth. You can borrow some of my clothes, while we wash yours.” John says gruffly, knowing that there’s no way Derek’s ever getting them back.  He's inclined to burn them, tries to remember if there’s still a can of lighter fluid in the garage next to the barbecue grill, but he’s pretty sure he used it all up at the last July 4th cook-out he held for his Deputies and their families, so the garbage can it is.

 

Derek slowly nods his head, face drawn and eyes haunted. Grabbing the hem of his tank he pulls it up exposing his lean flat stomach, jeans dipping low at the front revealing the cut line of his pelvis, clearly defined at either hip above his waistband. John’s fingertips itch wanting to touch it, trace over it with gentle hands and that’s when he realises he’s just standing there openly ogling his Deputy’s body and he can feel his face burn hotly as he hurries out of the bathroom. Ignoring the tug deep in his groin and the way his heartbeat has risen to a fast noticeable patter in his chest, he grabs some bed sheets from the linen closet to make up the bed in Stiles’ room. He knows Stiles won’t mind, he hopes it’s comforting to the werewolf being surrounded by his scent, the scent of a pack mate rather than the dust-filled one of the official guest room.

 

After the bed is made he can still hear the shower going, so he changes into some light cotton grey sleep pants and his favourite ‘Pulp fiction’ t-shirt that Stiles had bought for him one birthday a while back, with Samuel L Jackson on it and his favourite line ‘Oh. I’m sorry. Did I break your concentration?’  He also grabs some sweats and an old 49’ers t-shirt and stands outside the bathroom door for a whole minute silently debating with himself, whether it’s even a good idea to open it for starters and if he does, should he simply throw them in like tossing a raw steak into a wolf’s den or brazenly walk in and put the clothes on the closed lid of the toilet seat so they stay dry and in easy reach?

 

It doesn’t matter what he chooses, the fact is that Derek’s naked and dripping wet behind the shower curtain in John’s bathroom and it flips switches in him that he’d almost forgotten he had. Possessive, wanting and most of all protective. That’s the most powerful one and because of it he can ignore the buzz of satisfaction that Derek’s here in his home and the powerful urge to strip off and get into the shower with him. He can’t deny the tingle of pleasure that shoots through him at the thought and makes his groin feel heavy and full, it’s more than that though, so much more. John wants to hold him, to lend his strength and be someone that Derek can turn to and lean on when he needs it. He wants to shelter him, bathe him, to gently wash away all the hurts that wound and damage the younger man. Mouth twisting in a grimace, he’s never been an overly demonstrative man in the relationship department, but this is bordering ridiculous at how sappy he feels and yet he can’t deny it’s never felt so right either, this intense need to care for him.

 

John stares at the closed door and huffs out a heavy breath trying to snap himself out of it, he’s an idiot, what he wants and what the other man needs aren’t necessarily the same.

 

The compromise is that he opens the door the barest amount that he can without seeing behind it and slips his hand with the clothes in and drops them in a neat pile on the floor. Steam puffs out, billowing around the door frame in a cloud as he closes it.

 

John quickly goes downstairs and makes sure that all the windows and doors are secured rather than the perfunctory check he normally does. It’s something he’s fallen out of the habit of, living on his own, but when there’s someone he cares about in the house it quickly becomes routine again. In the kitchen he pulls a couple of bottles of cold water out of the fridge. He always has one on his bedside table as these days he tends to get a dry mouth during the night. He wonders if Derek’s hungry and whether he should make him a sandwich or something. In the end he thinks it’s better to wait and ask him first so he wanders back upstairs and frowns as he can hear that the shower’s still running. If Derek thinks he can hide away in his bathroom he’s got another thing coming and just as he’s about to pound on the door and express that very sentiment, the shower turns off.

 

Letting his hand fall back to his side, John tilts his head as he hears the rattle of the shower curtain rings on the rod as it’s drawn back. Okay. That’s okay he tells himself, distantly hearing the crackle of the plastic bottles in his other hand as it tightens and clenches around them unconsciously. Derek’s on the other side of the door naked, drying his body - he swallows thickly when he thinks of him rubbing John’s scratchy, but clean, towels all over. Groaning silently he curses his vivid imagination. Then curses himself again for being no better than those people at the club tonight and every other club Derek’s been to. The ones that don’t see the man he’s come to admire and respect as anything more than a thing to be used.

 

John’s able to smile relatively normally at the other man when he opens the door and steps out of the bathroom. Maybe it’s not that convincing when he sees the way Derek falters slightly, a brief stutter mid-step as he moves out into the corridor, eyes wary. John’s clothes are a little bit snug on him, but he can personally attest that they are very comfortable. A primal satisfaction kindles deep within him seeing Derek dressed in his clothes, ones that even though they’ve been washed probably still smell like him and he wonders if Derek, with his powerful senses, likes it. He fidgets, uncomfortably aroused at the thought. The sweats are a bit too short and they expose Derek’s pale feet and slender ankles. Barefoot, he seems so young and fragile to John and it makes him feel like a dirty, lecherous old man by comparison.

 

He huffs out a breath, disturbed by his own thoughts.

 

“Are you hungry?” John asks and feels weirded out by the strange mix of disappointment and relief when Derek shakes his head. Does he really want to maintain a so far very one-sided conversation in the kitchen?

 

“Here.” He thrusts out a water bottle which after a long moment Derek takes, holding it easily in a big hand. John turns and walks to the door to Stiles’ room, it’s only when he throws it open and looks over his shoulder to see Derek’s followed him, that he realises it’s not something he’s ever doubted. Derek’s always had his six, always had his back and even now with everything that’s happened he’d not even given thought that this at the very least could’ve changed between them. It’s reassuring that it hasn’t.

 

“I’ve made the bed up.” The lamp next to the bed is switched on and casts a warm glow over the turned back sheets and John almost smiles at how inviting it is. He stifles a yawn as Derek moves to the middle of the room. Arms crossed over his chest he looks defensive and like he’d really rather be anywhere than here. Which makes John think he’d better put it on the line and lay down the law.

 

“You’re staying the night because you’re my friend, my pack mate and my deputy. I trust you, I trust you not to leave which I’m sure you’re probably thinking about doing when I’m asleep.” Derek jerks and his guilty eyes dart every which way not meeting John’s. “So don’t. Be here when I wake up. I don’t presume to know what you’re going through…or…or why you do the things you do. But, I want to understand. We’ll talk in the morning. Okay?”

 

John waits patiently and almost as though he can’t help himself Derek lets his gaze drift up to meet John’s and their eyes lock and hold for a moment that feels like it could last an eternity if they allowed it. Derek nods slowly.

 

“Promise?” He insists, watching closely as Derek’s mouth opens and closes for a moment as though he’s struggling to speak.

 

“Promise.” Derek says low and brokenly, watching him. John moves to the door, hangs onto the handle with a grip so tight he’s amazed it’s not snapped off in his hand, it’s probably the only thing that’s keeping him grounded right now. Keeping him from doing something dumb and his brain doesn’t dare go into specifics of that dumbness because if he does…God if he does…

 

“Get some sleep.” He chokes out hoarsely. As John closes the door he can see that Derek’s standing in the middle of the room, slightly hunched over, arms wrapped tight around himself as though he’s just barely holding himself together. John grits his teeth, forcing himself to leave when everything inside him is telling him to stay and shuts the door behind him.

 

A heavy breath puffs out of his pursed lips and he takes a moment to collect himself. It’s killing him. Derek’s killing him with all the feelings that he brings out in John and he can’t act on them. It would be taking advantage of a man who carries too many internal scars that have risen to the surface today, it wouldn’t be fair to Derek or ultimately himself.

 

It’s a struggle to convince himself of that when all he wants to do is hold him.

 

Telling himself he should move, should go to his own bed, John ends up simply standing there seemingly unable to move his feet.   He feels like a major creeper as he strains to hear any movement from the room - the gentle pad of bare feet across the floor, the squeak of bedsprings as the mattress bears the weight of a body, any of the little noises that people make as they prepare for bed and to fall asleep. There’s nothing. It’s as silent in there as though the room is empty and John’s heart feels like it’s being squeezed in his chest. Has he already broken his promise and gone out the window? Can he seriously not bear to be near John and in his home? The silence is too loud in his head and the compulsion too great, he opens the door and relief floods through him. Derek’s still there.

 

Still standing in the exact same spot that John had just left him in. He looks so miserable, so lost that John’s chest aches and he swallows over and over trying to rid himself of the lump that’s formed in his throat. Derek’s lips tremble as he tries to speak and all of John’s defences crumble when he hears one word, rasped out.

 

“Please.”

 

It’s instinctive to hold out his hand, Derek’s in front of him seemingly instantly with his wolf speed and snatches at it frantically. John lets his fingers tangle with Derek’s slightly cooler ones and worry courses through him as he feels it, knowing that werewolves run at a slightly higher temperature than humans. As he leads him to his bedroom he wonders if he should grab another blanket from the linen cupboard.

 

Derek’s pressed tight into his side, it feels good, really good and he pushes back, leans into the younger man earning a wolf-like rumble of pleasure vibrating through Derek’s muscular frame. He smiles, faintly amused at the way Derek’s pressed his forehead into the top of his shoulder and is inhaling deeply, drawing in his scent with little snuffling noises that are kinda adorable coming out of his 6 foot, well-muscled, usually scowly Deputy.

 

Tonight, it feels like John’s world has narrowed down to his bedroom and his bed. The bedroom he’s about to share for the first time with another person in what feels like forever, other than Claudia as part of a married couple, and Stiles, when some nights had been too long and too dark for either of them to be alone.

 

As for sex, the only action this bed’s seen is him jerking off, it’s new since Stiles left for College. He’s had an arrangement for a number of years with the slightly older widow of an officer from a couple of counties over to scratch a mutual itch, Jill preferring him to visit her in her home and he was okay with that, but for the past nearly two years it’s only been to talk due to lack of...enthusiasm in certain body parts which she’d accepted with good grace, two glasses and a bottle of Macallan’s. He realises now that his body was the first to know that his interest lay elsewhere.  They still spoke on the phone occasionally as friends.  The last time he’d called she’d told him she’d met someone and it wasn’t anything yet, but it could be and she wanted to find out. John was pleased for her, a beautiful, intelligent woman who deserved so much more than what he could give. 

 

They both pause for a moment, staring at the queen-size bed that beckons and promises things that make John’s pulse beat thick and heavy in his neck. Right at this very moment John’s pleased that no one else has lain next to him in it. Then promptly freaks out because he is so damn pleased. There’s a weight to his movements, a slow burn in each and every muscle not from exhaustion, although God knows he feels that too, more a gentle stoking of a fire in his body that hungers for the touch of another person.

 

He looks into Derek’s eyes and sees a warmth there that the other man can’t hide, an adoration, that John allows himself to acknowledge and fill an empty place deep inside. If warmth had been the only thing he saw in those eyes that haunt him he may very well have done something dumb and reached out for more, but he can see the taint of wary fear in the starbursts of blue, gold, green and brown and he holds himself in check. Barely.

 

That he can’t act on it has his stomach clenching hard and fast as he closes the bedroom door only to very nearly swallow his own tongue when he turns around to get an eyeful of discarded clothes fluttering to the floor and Derek Hale’s spectacular bare ass as he crawls naked onto his bed.

 

He starts to tremble. Full on body shakes.

 

He is so fucked.

 

 

 

Satisfaction courses through Derek’s body as he curls in tight to John’s side as they lay together on the bed, wants to burrow deep into the exhausted man’s flesh and stay there forever where it’s safe and warm. He snuffles, his nose twitching as the rich notes of oak and whiskey, the essence of John Stilinski fills his nostrils and lines his mouth in the delicious scent. Dragging his nose from where it’s buried in John’s armpit, it’s all he can do not to swipe his tongue over the scent rich spot, cotton shirt and all. Derek lets his head rest heavily on the other man’s chest so he can feel the steady rise and fall of every breath John takes as he looks up into his sleeping face.

 

Derek’s always thought of John as being a handsome man, but seeing him so relaxed in sleep, he isn’t prepared for his reaction in the slightest.   It’s so much more seeing him with all his defences down, so vulnerable. The lines that are etched into his skin at the corners of his eyes and that bracket his mouth aren’t so deep, he looks younger, he looks beautiful and Derek aches to reach out and stroke his cheek, to trace the line of his jaw. Imagines running his hands over the older man’s broad shoulders and down over his solid chest, his body as sleek and powerful as a younger man’s. If Derek’s the wolf, then John is the lion.

 

He can hear John’s heartbeat and the steady pounding rhythm makes his eyes droop wearily as he listens. It’s so calming he can feel the tension melt away from every muscle in his body. Or maybe it’s the way that John’s got his arm curved around his back tucking him in tight to his side that’s making him feel so good. So good the tip of his tail starts to wag out of his control. His lip curls back in a snarl, a sub-vocal growl directed at this part of him that so often feels like it’s a separate entity that likes to tease and torment him. If it wouldn’t wake John up he’d snap at it, capture it between his jaws and show it who’s boss.

 

It’s been a few years now since he evolved and finally discovered he could fully shift into his wolf. It still surprises him when his canine instincts come so prominently to the fore, because when he’s a wolf, he’s still Derek. Knows who he is, knows what he wants, can think rationally with all the cunning viciousness of a human being, but every now and then the beast rises and takes control. John mumbles something indistinguishable in his sleep and Derek’s ears flick alertly, back and forth. He lifts his head, letting his mouth hang open and his tongue loll out of the side of his muzzle, checking on the older man. John’s hand instinctively tightens around the fistful of black fur he’s hanging onto. He likes John’s hands on his body, his fingers threaded through his pelt, the noise it draws out of him is more kitten purr than wolf growl.

 

That John had been willing to share his bed with him is something that Derek will never ever forget. Standing alone in Stiles’ bedroom, he’d felt something break within him, his resolve shredded by a despair that had welled up within him so thick and fast he’d felt paralysed by it. It had felt like he would always be like this, caught in a quicksand of loneliness and every time he struggled against it he sank faster and deeper. Trapped by his bleak thoughts, when John opened the door again he couldn’t help the plea that crossed his lips and as always the older man was his lifeline, reaching out to him.

 

Yet, the moment he’d crossed the threshold into John’s bedroom he’d known there was no way he could share his bed with him as a man. John’s been amazingly forgiving and caring for all that Derek’s put him through tonight, but it somehow seemed that this would be one step too far. If their normal working relationship was already strained, wouldn’t the events of tonight potentially damage it further, maybe to breaking point, and sure as hell Derek knows that whenever he saw John this would be the first thing he thought of. Lying next to each other, bodies pressed in tight. Better to let John have a memory somewhat easier to deal with by letting him have the illusion of Derek the wolf rather than Derek the man lying next to him. So he’d stripped off, crawled onto John’s bed and changed, letting the ripple of shifting bones move through him effortlessly until he was shaped into something entirely new.

 

For one moment after, there’d been a gamut of emotions that had flickered across John’s face so fast that Derek had trouble deciphering all of them. Just knows that his whole body had clenched tight in reaction as something dark and hot had glittered brightly in normally pale blue eyes before being swept away by a bleakness that resonated strongly of disappointment making Derek whine in uncertainty. John had instantly stepped forward at that sound, the bleakness disappearing and concern taking its place, his hand extending to touch and reassure, hovering briefly before dropping back down to John’s side.

 

“I’m pretty sure there’s a no dog on furniture rule in this house even if we’ve never had a dog.” Had been John’s only comment. Derek had snorted disdainfully and let his eyes flash wolf blue. John huffing out a pained sigh, although the corners of his lips had quirked upwards. “Alright, alright, wolves are exempt.”

 

When John flipped the covers back and slid into bed, Derek had tried to settle quickly, but couldn’t stop shifting around on the mattress. It was the scents that the bed contained or didn’t contain that had made him so restless. The only ones he could pick up were John’s and they were by far the most intimate that a wolf could sense of another person. John’s personal signature scent mixed with his sweat and the crisp tang of John’s semen tainted by lube, it all had him shivering in excitement because there was no one else’s. No one else’s and that had brought forth such an overwhelming sense of happiness that he may have let slip a little yip or two that had John watching him thoughtfully before he reached over and switched the lamp off.

 

“Goodnight kid.” John murmured in the darkness. Derek had lain there, tense and watchful, enough light from the moon edging around the curtains that he can see clearly with his enhanced night vision. Grateful that the light was switched off and that John wouldn’t see the burning hot knob of his cock poking out from his sheath. The contrasting cool air on the wet tip made him squirm with the need to grind against John’s hip or at the very least lick and lap at his own cock and balls to ease the ache, but that would mean traversing the divide between them and he wasn’t brave enough for that. The gap was a mere hand span of space, enough so that it felt like John was miles away from him.

 

He couldn’t contain it. The sigh hung in the air, weighted with a sadness that was unmistakeable. It was so despairing that when another one slipped out from between his lips, Derek closed his eyes with shame. This longing he had for the other man was growing with every second he spent with him, it almost had him at the limit of his endurance. A gentle stroking hand ran over his head and down his neck and Derek shook from the sheer pleasure it evoked. The most intense sensation he’d ever felt, as the hand slipped through his fur, fingers carding through its length to press into his muscles in a sensuous massaging motion. A rumble of pure pleasure vibrating from deep in his chest.

 

John shifted slightly, his arm tucking around Derek and hauled him in close to his body. “Come here.” He’d whispered hoarsely.

 

The gap was gone. The separation ended and a peace unlike anything Derek’s ever felt before descended on him. It had taken a while before John slipped into sleep, Derek stayed awake, determined to enjoy every moment of being here at John’s side while he can.

 

Content, Derek lays his head back down on John’s chest and lets the gentle rhythm of the older man’s breathing lull him if not into the deep unconsciousness of sleep, then into a light reflective doze as he considers how on earth he got to where he’s always wanted to be.

 

 

**_Derek lets his head roll easily with the motion of the car as he rests it against the cool glass of the SUV’s passenger window.   The trickling raindrops on the glass smear the lights amidst the darkness as they flash by him as John drives them home. The shock blanket that John had wrapped around him after leaving the club is soft and warm, but it doesn’t help the chill that feels like it’s burrowed deep into the core of him and wracks his body with intermittent shudders. He lets a single fingernail reshape into a curving claw, testing his control. Satisfied he drags it over the synthetic material until it catches and draws out a loose thread, tweaking and worrying at it until it’s the length of his little finger._ **

****

**_It feels like they’ve been travelling forever, heading north along the highway. With the rain steadily falling, John’s been driving to conditions for at least half an hour or so and as they pass the exit ramp that marks the first county line they have to cross Derek figures he’s got at least another 40 minutes of oppressive silence to endure. Neither of them seemingly willing to break it._ **

****

**_So when John says out of nowhere “Don’t worry about your car. If Mac says he’ll get it back to you, he will.”_ **

****

**_Derek can’t help the startled jerk he makes, the thread snapping in his hand and his head making a distinct thud against the glass. John darts a glance over, frowning, and mutters “Sorry.”_ **

****

**_He shakes his head. It didn’t hurt, just made him look…twitchy, unstable, and he doesn’t want John to think that of him. Wants him to understand that he’s made choices that John may not get, but they were his._ **

****

**_“Not worried, wouldn’t have given him the keys for it if I didn’t trust him for that.” The words taste bitter on his tongue and Derek can tell that John’s picked up on the unsaid things from the barely perceptible flinch he makes._ **

****

**_“Whatever you’re thinking, Mac’s been trying to help you.”_ **

****

**_Derek turns away to look out into the darkness once more. “Although not how I would’ve gone about it.” John murmurs under his breath and Derek’s head snaps back and he stares at the other man who is focused on the rain-slick road ahead of them._ **

****

**_“How would you—“ He starts to ask before thinking better of it and snapping his mouth shut, eyes focusing on his lap and he realises that he must’ve dropped the thread from the blanket. He can’t even see where he’s pulled it from, there’s no small hole anymore, the fabric is pristine and undamaged. Derek frowns running his fingers over it, his hand stills and he stares at it hard. There’s something wrong he just can’t quite figure out what it is, but all six fingers including his thumb are unbroken and intact, not even a torn nail so he really doesn’t know why he feels…odd when he looks at it._ **

****

**_From the corner of his eye he sees John tilt his head, looking over at him, appraising._ **

****

**_“I wouldn’t have let you do that to yourself from the very start.” The words are stark and grimly bitten out, Derek can’t hear a hesitation in them, or a catch in his breath or a stutter in his heartbeat. John’s telling the truth._ **

****

**_“I would’ve found you like I did tonight and nothing and nobody would’ve stopped me from getting you out of there.” John’s hands flex and grip the steering wheel tight as he turns his attention back on the road. “Not even you.” He says dangerously._ **

****

**_The primal part of him howls in approval at the claim inherent in those words, has him shivering and drawing the blanket around him closer before he does something really stupid, like throw himself across the centre console at the other man._ **

****

**_Everything John’s done tonight, even though he’s been embarrassed beyond belief by what the man’s discovered about him, has him falling for him deeper and harder than ever. He’s not worthy of him in any capacity and Derek cringes thinking about even daring to consider the two of them being on the same playing field. It’s not possible. He’s a fuck up and a failure who gets people killed and John is…John is what makes him get up in the morning, knowing that he’s going to see the older man even if it is from the far side of the bullpen and he daren’t risk it, couldn’t bear it if he turned away from him completely._ **

****

**_He needs to keep a safe distance before he makes things worse, like that’s even possible, because John deserves someone better than a broken wolf panting after him. His own reflection in the glass looks back at him with hollow eyes and he resolves to get the hell away the first chance he gets for both their sakes. Twisting, he stares as they drive past another exit ramp, puzzled he slumps back. The first county line, he could’ve sworn they crossed it ten minutes ago._ **

****

**_Wriggling in his seat, it feels like something hard is pressing into his lower back and ass. He stretches his legs and grinds back into it moaning at how good it feels, all the time conscious that John’s flicking him worried glances that are edged with a heat that turns his eyes red and scorches him. Derek can only stare at him, his wolf wants to rise, wants to tip his head back and he flashes his eyes wolf blue at his Alpha mate who growls low in his throat in approval. Shivering in reaction, he’s grateful that the blanket covers his groin with his dick twitching so violently beneath the denim and his balls throbbing with a ripe fullness that begs for release._ **

****

**_Snuggling into the blanket, he relishes the way it’s wrapped around him tight and heavy, Derek turns back to the darkness enjoying the feeling of safety and warmth that settles into his bones. He can feel the burning weight of John’s stare on the vulnerable nape of his neck, can feel it like a hot breath over his tender skin and it scrapes his nerve endings raw. A desperate needy whimper sits at the back of his throat, high and reedy, and he struggles to hold it in._ **

****

**_Until he can’t anymore._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I normally use bold italics for flashbacks - in this chapter this section is a cross between a flashback and a dream while Derek drifts off to sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dreams bring John and Derek closer than either of them ever dared to imagine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wasn't sure what response this fic was going to receive as it's a new pairing for me as a writer and I'm so thankful for the kudos and encouraging, supportive comments that have come in. My deepest thanks to you all.
> 
> Unbeta'ed.

Derek wakes up with a start, the echo of a thin, agonized sound of longing ringing in his ears. It fades away rapidly and he’s momentarily confused as to how he got from driving down a highway in the middle of the night to a bedroom that’s not his own until he slowly becomes aware of himself. He’s sprawled naked on his stomach, fuzzy-headed and disorientated in a bed, again not his own. A bed that feels strangely like it’s moving, the quivering bounce of the mattress vibrating through his body. Earthquake maybe, although he doesn’t feel under threat, his senses aren’t spiking like they would with any danger, natural or man-made.

 

Snuffling into his pillow, drawing in the delicious, comforting scents that linger there of aged oak, whisky and ripened oranges, Derek shivers at the chill in the air against his exposed back. Goosebumps race over skin as his body tries to insist that it had been warm and cosy and safe only moments before and he reaches back trying to find the heavy blankets that must have somehow slipped down his body.

 

Arm stretching out, he pats around blindly, his eyes refusing to open as he searches for the covers that should be there. He ignores the prickly hot burning sensation at his nape and between his shoulder blades that dissipates before he can focus on it properly as much as the fact that he can’t find anything remotely warm and weighty that would leave him with such a lingering sensation of home, safety and well-being.  

 

The lack of blankets are soon forgotten as his morning wood, unusually thick and swollen, presses hard into the mattress with his stirring and he grinds down with several, deep rolls of his hips and an achy groan slips out from between his lips. He whines at how unsatisfying it is, how twitchy and empty his hole feels, like somehow he’s been cheated out of being filled to more than he can comfortably take. It’s a much longed-for challenge that makes his heart beat a little bit faster, his cock throb a little bit harder, disappointment has him fisting his pillow so tightly that the fabric tears, the sound of it being rendered loud in his ears.

 

Writhing, he tries to splay his thighs wider, hoping it will stretch the ring of muscle at his entrance and ease the ache, but the sheets are tangled and wrapped around his legs so Derek lifts up on one arm, arching his back in a partial cobra pose and reaches behind with the other and grabs a single butt cheek tugging it to one side so the crack of his ass spreads open. The pull on his hole feels good and he moans his pleasure.

 

In the quiet bedroom, Derek hears a strangled muted noise, swiftly followed by some rasping bitten-off curses and his heartbeat surges as the sleepy fog that clouds his memory dissipates.

 

John.

 

Yes. John should be here and at that thought Derek opens his eyes, blinking sleepily as he looks over his shoulder searching the unfamiliar bedroom.

 

There’s enough early morning sunlight framing the drawn navy-blue curtains and filtering into the room that he can see without using enhanced senses as he pushes himself up and rolls slightly. The light blue cotton bedsheet wrapping even more tightly low around his hips making him hiss at the friction to his cock and curse faintly at the way it tangles awkwardly around his legs. Eventually, Derek manages to free himself and sit upright, smiling happily at John, who he now sees is standing at the foot of the bed watching him intently.

 

“John.” He breathes the older man’s name, delighting in the way it spills off his tongue so easily. There’s no awkward fumbling for words, this unusual confidence he feels can only be attributed to the powerful feeling of well-being and security he’s woken up with. He feels as comfortable here as though it were his own den and he likes the sensation. A lot.

 

“Derek.”

 

John says his name low and urgent and it sends a pinging message of wary alarm down his spine, not that Derek feels threatened, just he can hear an unspoken demand in John’s voice one that commands all his attention. Frowning, Derek tries to focus and when he does he can feel his mouth gape, blinking rapidly he realises that _yes_ he’s really seeing this, there’s no mistaking the signs of fierce arousal in the older man. He’s practically vibrating with it, swaying back and forth, grinding out little circles with his hips and drawing Derek’s eyes instantly to his groin. His cock jutting out from between his thighs, tenting out the front of his grey sleep pants where a very noticeable wet patch of pre-come has soaked into the fabric.

 

Not only is it plain from the outline where the head of his dick is resting, Derek can tell the rest of it is big and thick and curving to the right, angled down to his thigh from the sheer weight and heft of it. Inhaling deeply, his mouth instantly floods with moisture as he draws in that heady musky scent that is uniquely intimate to John’s arousal, spiced with a salty tartness so fresh that Derek knows the older man is leaking steadily and he wants to taste so bad that he can barely sit still. The room spins crazily leaving him reeling he feels so light- headed, all his blood migrating south to engorge his cock to a hardness that he’s never achieved before.

 

John’s broad chest is heaving as he pants heavily, sweat glistening on his forehead and upper lip like he’s been chasing down a suspect. A visibly shaking hand rakes through his hair more than once and his piercing blue irises are swallowed up by blown dark pupils leaving only a pale blue ring, they glitter hotly, scorching over Derek making him tremble as the sleepiness falls away and he feels his entire body throb and pulse in interest.

 

“Tell me…I need to know.” John’s hands flex and tighten into fists at his sides and he looks wound up tighter than a coiled spring. “You and Stiles…” He trails off hoarsely.

 

Derek stares until his brain slowly catches up with what John’s asking, shakes his head vigorously, startled. “No.”

 

“He thought he was in love with you at one time.” John persists, tone demanding.

 

“I know, but he wasn’t, not really.” Derek remembers that time, Stiles hadn’t said anything to him directly, but the looks he’d sent Derek’s way had been weighted with a barely concealed longing. The boy, barely 16, couldn’t disguise the arousal that had poured off him whenever they were together. It had frightened Derek, reminding him too much of himself at that age pining for an older woman and maybe because of that he’d been harsher, more aggressive towards the younger man, forcing him to keep his distance.

 

“It was real for him. I know him and he can be judgemental as hell, but give him time and Stiles sees things, good things, in other people that a lot of us miss no matter how observant we think we are.” Derek’s breathing hitches as John gives him a pointed look. Struggling to comprehend the idea that Stiles’ affections for him had been genuine and that John’s been thinking about him in any context, let alone a positive one, Derek rubs his hand over his chest, fingers tangling in the tight dark curls there as he tries to ease the resulting uncertainty from these revelations. It’s too unbelievable.

 

“No matter what he felt for me then, it’s always been Lydia and even if it hadn’t…Stiles and I aren’t like that. I love him because he’s my friend, my best friend, nothing else.” Derek tries to explain and hopes that it’s making sense, because being woken up in the early hours of the morning to a round of question time about his past relationships or lack of them wasn’t something he was expecting in the slightest.

 

John’s eyes narrow searchingly. “Nothing else - because he’s a man?”

 

“No…not that, I like…ahh both. With men I—“ Heat flushes through him from head to toe at his confession and he’s pretty sure his ears are glowing like embers from a fire they feel so scorchingly hot. “I like…uhh…older. Older guys.”

 

Over time, being around men like John and even Chris Argent to a certain extent had opened his eyes clearly to what his preferences are and he can genuinely say that he likes both men and women, but strong, attractive, dominant older men press his buttons like nothing else. His wolf wants to roll on its back and expose its vulnerable belly when he’s around them. When he’s around John.

 

The other man hisses out a long breath, nodding his head and muttering. “Good…that’s good.”

 

Derek’s heart feels like it’s going to beat right out of his chest when John places one knee on the mattress a wild, dangerous glint in his eye fixed upon him, then the other and he glides smoothly across the bed, prowling like a great cat on all fours. He stops when he’s straddling Derek’s thighs and cups his face with warm hands, tilting his head slightly John brushes his thumbs high over his cheekbones and Derek can’t breathe from the rush of fiery sensation that crashes through his nervous system at the gentle touch. Dizzy, he watches as the older man lifts up onto his knees and looks down into his upturned face, leaning in closer.

 

John’s lips hover a fraction of an inch above his own. He can feel John’s breath, hot and moist, against his mouth when he whispers hoarsely “Even if you had…with Stiles, I don’t think I could stop myself. If you don’t want this—“ He begins and Derek bracelets John’s wrists with his hands, possessively, holding him there.

 

“I want…yes I want—“ He can’t finish whatever he was going to say because John’s mouth is on his and he’s kissing him.

 

His eyes close almost helplessly, the weight of his lashes seemingly too heavy to keep them open for even an instant more as little shivers of want rush through his body. For a first kiss it’s surprisingly chaste, a careful brush of lips, back and forth. A slow and gentle exploration, the tingle of friction is sweetly addictive and Derek can tell that this is a craving he will never tire of. John’s tongue flickers at the seam of his lips, probing and sipping at them, and he gasps at the sensation, allowing the other man to lick into his mouth.  It becomes almost instantly soft and wetly lush.

 

He ignites, senses burning wildly out of control at the taste of him. Both of them moaning like they’ve got a fever as their tongues glide, hot and slick, pushing and stroking as they tangle together, demanding more and more of each other. John’s hands still cup his face, guiding him to whichever angle the older man wants so he can plunge in deeper, tilting his jaw one way before dipping slightly in another and Derek revels in John taking control. His wolf howls from the depths of his mind and soul, the powerful vibration travelling through every muscle, bone and sinew.  It's the closest he's ever felt to his wolf in his life.

 

Eventually, John pulls back and Derek’s breathless. Eyelids fluttering open, satisfaction courses through his veins at the colour that stripes high on John’s cheeks and the way he gasps for air, sucking it in through red kiss-swollen lips like he’s starving for it.

 

He loves the weight of the older man straddling his thighs, the feel of his forehead pressed to his as they struggle to calm down, hot breath puffing against his still-tingling lips. Derek’s never felt such hunger, such desire from a single kiss before in his life. There’s too much distance between their bodies. His skin prickling with need, he needs to feel John’s hands upon him, feel them against his flesh…gripping and stroking, soothing the itch that threatens to take his very sanity.

 

He wants this. He wants this. He wants this. He wants this so bad it hurts. Slowly leaning back, he draws John with him, whispering his name over and over, holding his gaze letting him see everything. Derek wants to feel him covering his body, feel his weight pressing him into the mattress while he’s conscious and aware this time, because he’s not dumb and putting two and two together was fairly easy as to what had woken him up this morning.

 

John’s expression is a confused mesh of hunger and worry as their hips align and their cocks, swollen and iron hard press together through layers of cotton and Derek’s destroyed. John breaks his hold on his wrists and clasps his hands tight, fingers interlocking and presses them to the bed either side of his head, pinning him in place. In truth Derek could so easily overpower the older man, but in the core of his very being where neither man or wolf have complete dominion and sit side by side, he recognises the demand his Alpha mate is making of him. John’s making him submit and he welcomes it.  

 

It’s too much and his hips rock up and John gasps punching his down, the friction so intensely good his eyes roll back as they rub and thrust against each other. Over and over. He whines in encouragement, high-pitched and needy. Derek wants more, so much more and spreads his legs as wide as he can, wrapping a leg over John’s hip to draw him in even closer, arching his back and tilting his head back to bare his throat. John’s thrusts stutter wildly as he cries out and even though the blood’s thundering and roaring through his veins, deafening him, Derek can swear that he hears John cry out.

 

“Mine. My boy.”

 

Derek convulses, body shaking and abdomen contracting hard as his cock pumps out come in hot, thick streams over his belly.

 

“Yes, yes.” He groans his acceptance, long and loud, his truth that he is and forever will be John Stilinski’s boy. He shatters inside and out, pulled apart and put back together again by all that he feels for the older man into something shiny and new and he can’t stop the tears from welling up for all the things that might have been and for all the things that are possible now.

 

 

 

Sleep hasn’t always been John’s friend. Shift work, everyday worries and then some extraordinary supernatural ones have conspired to frequently make it feel like exhaustion is his natural state of being and that sleep is a fantasy construct to give poor saps like himself some hope of getting through the day. A tantalising carrot or reward of blissful, peaceful slumber for a working stiff. If he does sleep it’s either a light doze with his body twitching awake to constant jerking wakefulness or a deep hard slog of such heavy unconsciousness that it’s not restful in the slightest.

 

Dreaming, not nightmares 'cause he has plenty of those, but genuine dreams of people and places he knows or even the weird ones, not frightening just bizarre, are something he's pretty sure he's out of practice with.  So, when he dreams he’s warm and cosy in his bed with a warm and cosy body close to his, he grasps onto the gift that it is, of being able to lose himself in the simple pleasure of it, dream or not. It’s natural to roll towards that warm body. Completely natural to sprawl all over it in fact and if his dream comes with the vivid scent of clean, soapy skin with an underlying tang of fresh sweat with hints of pine and a spicy masculine musk, it’s again natural to press his face against the silky smooth glide of what feels like miles of hot skin and lick. The taste is indescribable and he mouths hungrily, suckling at the broad plane of a shoulder blade.

 

It’s so not Claudia he’s dreaming of, he’s cognizant of the larger frame that he's blanketing with his body, the strongly defined musculature writhing beneath him and the deeper tonal quality to the voice that’s currently groaning hotly every time John rubs against him. It’s a dream that he doesn’t want to wake from and he screws his eyes closed even tighter, desperate to hang onto every precious, pleasurable moment of it.

 

He’s not shocked that it’s a man, before he met Claudia his most intense relationship had been with his Platoon Sergeant during Desert Storm. It was a few years prior to DADT, but those few months before Luke was injured at Khafji and shipped out had shown him quite conclusively that he enjoyed being with both men and women. Every brief furtive encounter was an adrenalin charged, torturous rush of pure satisfaction that made even the simple brush of shoulders in the confines of a carrier, fuel for the fiery craving. It’s as nothing compared to this.

 

John’s hard. So fucking hard and there’s warmth beneath him and a cushion of muscle for his cock to grind against that feels so real, like it’s just made for him. He pushes forwards with his hips and God damn…God damn that cushion pushes back and he keens at the sensation, at the throb that pulses through his entire body. Sweat breaks out across his brow and down the curve of his spine beneath the t-shirt he wears. Arching his entire body, he grinds down and his cock settles into a slot, a tempting notch that promises pleasure and release beyond anything he’s ever felt before, beyond anything he’s ever fantasized about in long, dark nights with his cock in his fist and the sheer determination not to think about his favourite Deputy as he brutally jerks himself off.

 

Hips pumping, he nuzzles into the nape that lays before him, rubbing his jaw and face all over the tender flesh knowing that his stubble is going to leave his mark. A mark, the deepest part of his psyche, the remnant of primitive man, recognises as being a primal claim of ownership, of possession. John hooks his chin over a broad shoulder and mouths hotly over the throat that vibrates with a low, rumbling sound against his lips. It makes him shudder imagining what he would hear if his cock was buried deep and thrusting.

 

Sliding his hands down the dream man’s sides, fingertips brushing over sculpted muscle and hard bone, he grips narrow hips in his greedy hands, not letting him move, almost afraid that he’ll vanish if he’s not holding on tight. John shifts, hooks a thumb in the waistband of his pants and tugs it down. His cock, heavy and swollen till it feels like it’s about to burst, is released and slaps down onto firm flesh with a meaty thwack. The other man wriggles and pushes and grinds back against him and John’s going to die. He’s going to die if he doesn’t get inside right now and… _fuck_.

 

Dangerous urgency gives him the strength to support himself on one hand, the other gripping his throbbing cock rubbing the head over the other man’s ass crack, blindly searching for the hole he knows is there and needs to fill. John’s big there’s no denying it, his cock is well above average in the size stakes. It’s not pretty. It’s thick and blunt and when he’s really aroused the veins that feed it, bulge under the thin sensitive skin from root to head. He can feel them now his fingers tracing them and he shudders.

 

Sometimes he thinks it’s more a weapon than an instrument of pleasure, Claudia had struggled at times to take him even after so much foreplay that it had left him almost crying in frustration and her exhausted with slick coating her thighs and so sensitive to touch that it bordered on painful. For all the care he normally takes, he’s not prepped the ass that pushes back into him, tempting him beyond reason, because this is a dream and in dreams you can do whatever you want and he wants in right now. Can’t wait any longer.

 

The fat knob of his cock, slick with pre-come, finds the little notch that with a gentle nudge stretches and gives slightly, letting him know that he’s found it. Found the hole that’s going to sheath him so well, so tightly that a sound comes from his frantically swallowing throat that he’s never heard from himself before. One of excitement and raw need. Hands trembling, heart beating fast in his chest John starts to press the head in and unable to help himself because he needs to see, needs to see his cock push into that little hole and make it stretch wide as it surrounds him, he opens his eyes.

 

The first thing he sees are the red brands of irritation striping the other man’s flesh from his stubble and he growls, more beast than man, in satisfaction. The second thing he sees is the black swirling tattoo that he recognises instantly, not that he’s seen it like this before, only on Hale family objects. The Hale triskele is inked into the broad back of one Derek Hale, right between his shoulder blades and it ripples and moves as the younger man shifts below him. Derek’s head tilts slightly and John has a perfect view of his perfect profile and dawning horror washes over him. Derek’s eyes are closed, but not from bliss, there’s a slackness to his face, a relaxed quality to his features that John’s never seen on him before, but instinctively recognises as the expression of a sleeping man.

 

Shock has his hips jerking and the tip of his cock sinks in a little deeper before he can stop himself and Derek moans a thin, reedy sound and John violently yanks himself back, wincing as his cock bucks violently in protest. The mattress bouncing vigorously as he scrambles backwards to get away from the man he was just about to violate in his fucking sleep.

 

Panting he stands in the middle of his bedroom, dragging his sleep pants back up over his hips, dick twitching at the brush of fabric over the sensitive head. He should go. He should get out of there as fast as he can. Run even, to escape this temptation because Derek’s stirring. Slowly waking up and yet John can’t move a step. His feet are glued to the floor and the slow, languid movements that the man in his bed makes draws his eyes mesmerizing him and he holds his breath as he watches. Watches unblinking until his eyes feel gritty and he puffs out heavy breaths needing air in his lungs, needing it to reach his oxygen starved brain.

 

When Derek grabs his ass and splays it wide exposing his winking dusky pink hole that glistens with John’s pre-come, he almost breaks, choking back a deep needy groan and takes a staggering step closer to the bed before he’s able to rein himself back in.

 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” John whispers hoarsely. Derek stills before struggling to roll over, tangled in the bedsheets and his face when he sees him, John swallows hard at the sight, as it lightens with the most pleased, so-very-happy-to-see-you expression that he’s ever seen in his life. It’s not what he’d expected from a man who’d been rudely awoken with a cock almost shoved up his ass.

 

“John.” Derek says his name so sweetly, like he can’t quite believe he’s there and is so very, very pleased that he is, John struggles to control himself. Derek Hale is sitting naked in the middle of his bed, all sleep-rumpled, warm and soft, the bedcovers pooling around his hips. Black hair tousled and spiking, flushed cheeks and heavy eyelids, pupils blown wide and hazy. His whole demeanour isn’t that of a man who’s been assaulted it’s more of a contented lover enticing and beckoning their partner to return and become entangled with them as much as the bedsheets. John’s a drowning man who can see the life preserver that is the bedroom door from the corner of his eye and yet he doesn’t move, willingly letting the waves crash over his head and pull him under.

 

“Derek.” His name is ripped out of him and it drips from John’s tongue, heavy with heat and want, and Derek’s eyes go wide at the sound. The powerful chest, expanding with a held breath, tawny pink nipples peeking from the spray of fine dark hair that covers Derek’s pecs and down, narrowing over his abs to become a distinct line from his belly button to his barely covered groin. John stares, letting his mind burn the image in front of him into his memory.

 

He’s too young, too beautiful, too good and John can’t believe that no one else has seen what he does. Why hasn’t he been snapped up? The question is more disturbing than he wants to admit, as he remembers the longing looks that his son had given the wolf in those fucked up days of the nogitsune and berserkers, John had easily recognised that expression after so many years of Stiles pining for Lydia. Combined with the defensive, protective tone when he spoke of Derek and even the placement of Derek as the King on Stiles’ chessboard, it had all pointed to the gentler feelings that his son had for the other man.

 

Was it a genetic thing? Were all the Stilinski’s drawn to this young man, moths to his flame, on a cellular level? More importantly, had Stiles’ ardour for Derek ever been returned. A sliver of something bitter and dark pierces through his mind at the possibility, a stab of jealousy that in all good conscience a man his age shouldn’t be feeling for someone nearly 20 years younger and the possible ex-partner of his own son. Yet, there’s something about Derek Hale that makes him doubt the strength of will he has to follow his own moral code and conscience.

 

The temptation of him in John’s bed unravels him and before he knows what he’s doing, he’s asking the question and the answer sends such a joyous rush of relief throughout his body he feels like he’s going to collapse. When Derek qualifies by adding that his preference is for older men, even though John’s head is screaming **_shut up shut up I won’t be able to stop shut up_** fire licks through his veins and he’s nodding his head as though to say ‘of course, it’s only natural, I understand completely’.

 

“Good…that’s good.” He mutters as the fire finally reaches his brain and it seizes, wild impulse taking control, compelling him to climb onto the bed and crawl into Derek’s lap. He can hear himself talking, can hear himself saying things that are simply beyond self-censorship, at this moment he can’t be anything other than honest no matter if Derek is ready to hear it or not. At the very least his own sense of honour allows him to somehow offer him an out, but the moment Derek wraps his hands around John’s wrists it’s too late, there’s no stopping it, no denying it anymore and he kisses him.

 

John holds his head in place and kisses him. It’s a mere brush of lips, but it burns. It feels like he’s staking his claim on the other man and satisfaction courses through him, a rising urgency starting to ride him hard. He wants more, he wants everything and lets his tongue dart out and swipe over Derek’s lips before sliding it into his gasping mouth and it’s hot and wet and John’s lost. The thundering roar of his blood pumping fast deafens him as he tastes Derek intimately, strokes his tongue over the roof of his mouth and the sharp edge of his teeth before sliding and pushing against Derek’s. The rasp of the younger man’s heavier stubble abrades his mouth and chin, fuelling the burn that has settled into his very bones. That Derek lets him guide and direct them, lets him angle their heads for the deepest and most erotic kiss of his life, satisfies the dominant in him, makes him purr.

 

Slowly he pulls back. Derek blinks rapidly, stunned and John knows how he feels. It’s like the whole axis of his existence has been altered irrevocably. Derek’s lips are slightly parted and John can see his front bunny teeth and it tugs at something gentler in him, something that wants only to protect the younger man. Derek licks his red, puffy lips as though he’s trying to taste John and it sends a pulse through his cock and he can feel the pre-come bubble out of the head and smear over his thigh making him suck in his breath trying to keep control. He wants to come, needs to and it feels like Derek’s the only one that can get him there. He’s too hungry for it, so when Derek slowly lies back and draws him down with him, he can’t fight it much as he guiltily knows he should.

 

“John, John, John…” Derek whispers his name over and over like a benediction and there’s a shining light of emotion in his spectacular eyes that leaves no room for doubt that whatever this feeling is then Derek’s feeling it too.

 

It doesn’t take long. They’ve both been needing it for what feels like forever. When he lets the full weight of his body press into Derek’s, their cocks grind together hard and John’s brain shuts down. Hips pumping, cocks thrusting and it feels so good even through the thin damp layer of cotton between them that John can’t even stop to yank his sleep pants down. He catches Derek’s hands, holds them either side of his head and threads their fingers together, needing to anchor himself, tether himself to the other man forever. He’s so close and it’s too much, Derek rolls his head from side to side as he grinds his hips up, back arching. High pitched whines spilling out of his slack mouth, eyes glowing electric blue, all control lost to his passion.

 

Derek spreads his legs wider and John settles heavily in the cradle of his pelvis and can feel the familiar tingling at the base of his spine, the lift of his balls and he’s going to come. The wondrous inevitability of it has him grinding harder, so close to the brink. When Derek wraps his leg around John’s hip, the edge of his foot sliding over and into the crack of his ass, he’s gone. Cock spasming, hips stuttering, the pulsing waves run up the aching length and he’s spurting thick, hot come into his pants and he’s shouting out loud.

 

“Mine. My boy.”

 

Hearing Derek groan gutturally, as if he’s being wrung out internally, “Yes, yes” in acceptance of his claim breaks through any and all constraints John’s placed upon himself in regard to the other man. There’s no turning back for him now and he will do anything, give up anything to keep him by his side permanently.

 

Their bodies shake and rock together, the quaking aftermath of such powerful orgasms, and John doesn’t have the strength or willpower to keep himself from letting his full weight rest on Derek’s powerful body. Breathing deep, he enjoys the silky brush of inky black hair against his lips and draws in the scent of his own shampoo from the spot just behind Derek’s ear and it makes him shiver at the intimacy of it, forcing out one more little spurt of come that makes him sigh with aching relief.

 

He feels so damn good, so right that all he wants to do is lay there and never ever move again as long as Derek’s with him. It takes him a moment to register the moisture that smears over his cheek and he jerks back, self-loathing welling up from deep within him at the cost of his satisfaction when he sees the red-rimmed, tear-filled eyes that flutter closed under his horrified gaze.

 

“Oh God. Derek I’m so—“ Derek’s eyes snap open and he lifts his head and smashes his lips to John’s shutting him up before letting the kiss ease, becoming softer, more gentle and John loses himself in the multi-faceted sparkling eyes that seem to hold all the colours and more within their depths. Derek wraps his arms around him as he slowly draws back and an easy smile John’s never seen before pulls his mouth wide.

 

“Stop. I’m good…I am so very good right now.” John stares at Derek for the longest time, eventually heaving a big sigh of relief as he realises the younger man is telling the truth and lets his forehead drop to rest against the other man’s.

 

“You scared me. I couldn’t bear it if I hurt you.” John whispers, looking deep into those magnificent pools of green, blue and brown searching for any hint of a lie as Derek presses tiny sweet kisses over his mouth, cheeks and chin, his arms tightening around him in comfort.

 

“The only way you could hurt me is if you turn away from me.” The unspoken _‘again’_ makes John wince.

 

“I’m sorry.” He says. “I’ve handled this whole thing badly.”

 

Derek shakes his head. “No, we’ve both handled it badly. I should’ve spoken to you the first day you put out those crap rosters and told you—“

 

“Told me to get my head out of my ass.” John chuckles faintly.

 

Derek smiles, his white teeth gleaming. “Yeah…maybe. I was thinking more I should’ve told you straight up I had feelings for you, but I was scared.”

 

John’s stunned, his stomach clenches and his hands shake at the realisation that for Derek this wasn’t just some type of ‘fuck buddies’ hook up or a misguided sexual favour to keep quiet about what he’d discovered in that bathroom last night. Derek’s smile starts to falter at his hesitation and his eyes darken, his expression suddenly bleak.

 

“I…it’s alright if you don’t…after last night, I get that you wouldn’t want—“

 

“No, I do. I do.” John insists breathless at the joy that suddenly radiates from Derek. He rolls to his side, drawing the well-muscled man with him so they can face each other, their lower legs and feet tangling. John draws up Derek’s hands to his mouth and softly kisses the broad knuckles delighting in the way Derek sucks in a sharp breath before gently squeezing them back.

 

“I want to do this right. I’m going to have a shower before I end up sticking to my shirt permanently and after we’re going to have breakfast together and talk.”

 

“Talk?” Derek queries, an eyebrow arching high.

 

“Uh huh. About us.” John says, dazzled by the breathtaking smile that the other man gives him then and he can’t help himself he leans forward and presses his mouth to Derek’s in a light kiss that could so easily become hungry if he let the reins loose and he’s got them held tight until he hears Derek make a little mewling noise that goes straight to his dick. He surges closer, his hand sliding around Derek’s back holding him close, stroking over his spine, the kiss quickly becomes so passionate that John’s left panting when they eventually separate. He’s gratified to see that Derek looks equally as dazed with bright red colour flushing his cheeks so deliciously, the flush even reaching the tips of Derek’s ears making him so adorable that John’s heart squeezes almost painfully in his chest with longing.

 

“I could talk like that all day.” Derek rasps with a little smirk, eyes twinkling brightly.

 

“Behave.” John presses another kiss to the smirking mouth and gives him a light smack on that spectacular ass before rolling away. That Derek’s pupils blow out almost instantly in reaction is something he mentally takes note of even as his fingers still tingle with the sting of contact.

 

Standing by the side of his bed, he grimaces as he ruefully plucks at his t-shirt, Samuel L Jackson will never be the same again. It and his sleep pants are saturated in come, having soaked up both his and Derek’s release. He hears a little snicker from his bed. Derek’s propping his head up with one hand, not hiding his amusement at all, his eyes running up and down his body.

 

“Your face.” He laughs outright and John looks down at himself and then across to the laughing, beautiful man lying in his bed and he feels giddy at the sight. Derek’s smile is contagious and his laugh does funny things to John’s chest and he can’t help but join in.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The 'talk' reveals more about each other than John and Derek ever expected to learn about one another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was never going to be an easy fix.
> 
> Unbeta'ed.

John rushes through his shower, shaving and brushing his teeth under the hot spray, not wanting to be apart from Derek for too long. Not only because he wants to be with him, but a small anxious part worries that the urgent need that John feels to be with him all the time isn't returned and he won't be there when he gets out.  The last time he was plagued with such insecurity was many years ago as a young Deputy, when he was trying to secure the phone number of a stunning young woman he'd met in a new café in a reclaimed section of Buckland Street. That he’d spilled his, thankfully luke-warm, coffee down the front of her dress with the pretty blue flowers and still managed to get that number was a miracle. It wasn't until he'd packed Claudia's clothes away many years later, after she'd gone, that he'd found the dress in a sealed zip-loc bag at the back of her wardrobe and realised the stains had never come out and yet she'd still kept it.

 

One miracle in his life was astounding, a second though...was simply unbelievable.  He wanted it, wanted to grab onto this feeling with both hands and never let go no matter how greedy that sounded, knowing that there were people who'd never been lucky enough to have it at all.

 

Hurriedly towelling himself dry, John quickly changes into clean sweatpants and a t-shirt, gathering up his come-stained night wear and the clothes that Derek had worn the previous night at the club that he’d left neatly folded up on the bathroom counter. He didn’t like to think about the fact that they were come-stained too, but he couldn’t ignore it. Wouldn’t ignore it, look what happened when he’d blinkered himself to the truth. Derek had issues that needed to be dealt with before John could even comfortably think of things going any further between them and he didn’t just mean the sex. Mind-blowing though it was.

 

He simply liked being with Derek. He was wryly funny and whip-smart, shared a similar love for most sports and could actually hold a conversation when he was inclined to. As much as John had gotten to know him through their close working relationship and pack bonds, John desperately wanted to get to know him better, to know everything about him without being creepy, as much as the younger man was willing to share. The possibility of building on the attraction, which he was pretty sure after what they’d just shared wasn’t all one-sided on his part, was exciting and so very tempting, he just didn’t want to push Derek into something he neither desired or wasn’t ready for. There was also the nearly twenty year age difference between them and the fact that he was in a position of power in their workplace to consider too.

 

God…it was all so overwhelming and his stomach was rolling and his chest felt so damned tight because he was so worried he was going to fuck it up. The threat of him screwing things up more than he already had wasn’t going to stop him though, he wasn’t giving up. The gut instinct he’d honed and relied on over the years on the battlefield and on the street told him how very good and right they could be together. He hoped that Derek felt that way too.

 

Derek’s clothes were still going in the garbage.

 

Making his way downstairs, he can hear very domestic sounds coming from the kitchen, the clatter of pans, the cutlery drawer opening and closing. John pauses at the bottom of the staircase and just listens, because in between Stiles coming home on breaks from Harvard and holidays where he might invite some of his deputies over to celebrate, the house is quiet. Too quiet. Too empty.  Too lonely.

 

Shaking off the maudlin thoughts, John stops in the basement first and dumps the dirty clothes on top of the washer, he'll deal with them later. When he enters the kitchen Derek’s standing by the cooktop in the loaned sweatpants and t-shirt that had spent the majority of the night on his bedroom floor. He’s watching the bacon sizzle in the frying pan with such concentration that a small furrow’s formed between his expressive eyebrows. John doesn’t know what that says about himself that he finds it so adorable he can feel a smile tug at the corners of his mouth, stretching his lips, it’s so wide he’s pretty sure it probably looks downright goofy.

 

Scrambled eggs sit light and fluffy in another pan keeping warm and John can see that the red light is glowing on the toaster indicating there’s some bread within it and his stomach rumbles with hunger. More importantly, the coffee pot is nearly full, the slow drip of the filter gradually petering out as he watches and the craving for a cup slams into him hard.

 

A warmth rushes through him seeing the man he cares about making himself at home in his kitchen. A little voice at the back of his head wonders why he doesn’t find it strange, seeing Derek where Claudia once stood, but there’s none of the conflict or angst that he’d anticipated when he’d ever remotely considered the possibility of being with someone else. It’s not that he’s stopped loving Claudia he realises, it’s that the John Stilinski he is now is very different to the John Stilinski who came back from Kuwait all those years ago and met a young woman who changed his life and gave him a son.

 

“I didn’t expect you to cook.” John says, as he moves to stand beside Derek pointing a finger at the crisp bacon and letting his shoulder lightly bump into the other man’s affectionately. “You found my stash though.”

 

Derek smirks, the gold flecks in his eyes shine brightly as he nudges back, holding up both hands in mock surrender. The spatula he holds weaving dangerously in the air. “I like to cook and I promise not to tell Stiles.”

 

“You surely can’t be implying that I’m afraid of my own son.” John teases. “Still, I’m not an idiot so I’m holding you to that.” Derek’s answering smile makes him feel lighter somehow. “Keeping my secrets and you can cook. Where have you been all my life?”

 

“Right here.” Derek says softly. John feels a pang in his chest as Derek ducks his head, perfect white teeth nipping his full lower lip.

 

“Well, I’m very happy that you're here now.” John says softly, placing his hand ever so lightly at the small of Derek’s back, only just letting his fingertips barely touch the worn cotton of his old t-shirt feeling the heat radiating through the fabric. It’s still enough to make the younger man shiver and John can see the spatula isn’t very steady as Derek abruptly flicks over a few rashers in the pan, grease sizzling and spitting loudly.

 

“How can I help?” He asks gruffly, swallowing thickly as he allows his eyes to drift over Derek’s hands and up over the powerfully corded forearms. The man was so ripped he felt extra soft and squidgy in comparison, even though he made an effort to go to the gym a few times a week and regardless of what Stiles thought, he did try to eat well most of the time.

 

From his last Departmental physical he knew he was in pretty good shape for his age, a healthy weight with good muscle strength and tone, his bloodwork all came back in the normal or good ranges. Is it enough to keep up with and hold the interest of a man in his late twenties though? A man so handsome that he looks like he could be on the cover of a magazine, a man so beautiful he could have anyone he wanted. Is it enough that if they follow through on this thing between them that they’ll have a long and satisfying life together? Is he rushing into this even though the feelings have been there for a while? Because he may have only consciously recognised them for what they were about a year ago, but he strongly suspects that they’d been simmering for a lot longer.

 

“Uhh…this is about done so if you can get some plates I’ll dish up.” Derek still doesn’t meet his eyes and John simply does as he’s asked and then pours the coffee into two large mugs, making sure to add plenty of creamer to Derek’s just how he likes it, while he sips on his getting an instant kick from the rich black liquid.

 

Sitting either side of the dining table, John stretches his legs out and feels his bare foot brush what must be Derek’s ankle he decides from the shape and feel of it. He counts it as a victory that neither one of them flinches or draws their own away and braves rubbing the side of his foot against it again in a little caress that earns him a little smile from the other man.

 

With that, the curious tension vanishes and before John knows it somehow they’re talking about baseball and the next couple of games in the season for the Dodgers and the Mets and what their chances are. The bacon’s crispy just how he likes it and Derek smiles wider than John’s ever seen when he moans out loud at his first mouthful of the eggs, they’re the best he’s ever tasted and he doesn’t know what Derek’s added to them, all he’s willing to say is that it’s his Mom’s secret. Leaning back in his chair, rubbing his belly in sated approval, John watches with fascination the way Derek demolishes enough food for three men. He’s aware that the wolves need the additional fuel to generate enough energy for all their shifting, no matter if it’s a partial change or not, their metabolism burns through calories fast.

 

When they’ve finished John gathers their plates and rinses them before putting them into the dishwasher with the other pans and utensils that were used. For some reason he’s ridiculously pleased that Derek hadn’t fought him over it, that he’s comfortable enough for them to share the chores, and he’s pretty sure that stupid grin’s back on his face and it just won’t quit. He grabs the still warm coffee pot and walks back to the table only pouring himself another one after Derek shakes his head, no.

 

The silence is companionable as John sits back down at the table and cradles his mug, enjoying the heat seeping into his palms, contemplating how to go forward. The problem is that for all his experience in interrogation and questioning suspects he doesn’t want to behave that way with Derek, he wants them to be able to talk freely and simply share what they’re thinking and feeling. He just can’t seem to find the right words to start the conversation and ask what he needs to know and he can see that the longer the silence goes on the less comfortable Derek looks, until he’s actively squirming in his chair, his eyes back to darting around the room checking for all the available exits.

 

“Why?” He surprises himself with the brevity of the question, at how almost tactless it is and Derek freezes in place, expression stony. There’s no doubting what John means, there’s no way Derek doesn’t understand the question. John needs to know why the younger man put himself in **_that_** position and more importantly will it keep happening.

 

“You won’t understand.” Derek says eventually.

 

“You’d be surprised with what I understand.”

 

Derek snorts, a choked out, bitter sounding laugh, shaking his head in denial. “I didn’t love her you know.”

 

That wasn’t the response he was expecting, not that he expected anything in particular really, but it feels like it came so far outta left field that John is spinning to catch up.

 

“Her?” He says, mind running quickly through the number of females he can link to Derek.

 

“Kate.” Derek snaps, sharp and brittle. John can see that there’s no longer a glowing flush of well-being on his cheeks, he looks disturbingly pale and so instantly drawn that it takes everything he has not to reach across, grab his hand and beg him to stop.

 

“I didn’t love her.” He repeats sourly. “At the start I thought maybe…but, I liked it when she said she loved me, made me feel good that this hot, older woman was so into me…wanted me. I was so full of myself and I was so stupid.” He looks down at where his hands rest on the table and John can see the slight tremor to them.

 

“Maybe I wouldn’t feel so bad if I’d had any genuine feelings for her at all. If I’d loved her, but I didn’t. After the first time when I didn’t want…and she made…after that, all I wanted was to get my dick into her. Just wanted to get off and my family—“ Derek chokes off, long dark lashes fluttering as he closes his eyes.

 

John waits.

 

“My family paid the price for the privilege of me coming inside her.” Derek says bitterly and his eyes snap open, flashing electric blue in grief and anger.

 

John’s patient, biting back the words that sit heavily on his tongue and doesn’t offer anything because he can tell that right now as Derek’s recalling his past that he wouldn’t listen or believe anything he could say to him. Comfort is not what he’s seeking right now. Reassurances will only hurt and trying to assign the blame to the only person responsible to ease the guilt will only cause damage while he’s in this frame of mind.

 

Over time, he’s recognised there’s a sensitivity in Derek’s very nature that means he feels more deeply than he lets on, hides it so very well to protect himself after bitter experience that he comes across as being the exact opposite. So, much as Derek tries to deny it, John doesn’t believe in the slightest that the younger man didn’t have feelings for the woman at the time. Sitting there surrounded by such longed for shared domesticity, John grits his teeth, because what he’s hearing in Derek’s words is coercion and non-consent between a teenage boy and a mature, grown woman and he can’t let that horror taint what they have right now. He tries to control his emotions, the anger that sits simmering low in his gut when he hears how his boy was raped at 16, the disappointment that swirls within it, disappointment that he can’t kill the bitch himself.

 

“In New York, Laura and I, we were all we had. Sometimes it felt like I couldn’t breathe because she was always right there. Always watching, ready to comfort me when I needed it, ready to hold me when the nightmares wouldn’t quit and I…I there were times when I needed to get away from her because I didn’t deserve it. She never knew why our family was burned out of existence. I couldn’t—“ Derek tips his head back and his hands clench into fists, the cords of his throat are strong and flex powerfully as he swallows hard.

 

“I would give anything to have her here. But, back then…” He shrugs helplessly, as though he can’t quite believe it himself that he’d ever felt smothered by his sister’s love. “There were clubs I could get into, where I could escape, get lost in a sea of bodies so I didn’t have to think. Did anything to try and forget. Drank until I couldn’t drink anymore, I was being offered all these free drinks so why not, but alcohol doesn’t work on wolves so I tried drugs. All types, shot up, smoked and swallowed anything I could get my hands on. Most did nothing and some made me so sick as my body rejected it, I would just throw up, over and over. I couldn’t even fuck anyone, I tried so many times—men, women, trans, it didn’t matter who, it didn’t work. My wolf wouldn’t let me. Didn’t trust anyone enough to let me get close to or to turn my back on them again.”

 

John can only imagine Derek at 17 and his stomach pitches sickeningly at the thought of the boy going into these places so beautiful, so damaged and so very vulnerable, werewolf or not. The bottom-dwellers that lurk in these places would’ve flocked to him ready to take a piece. Ready to finish what Kate Argent had started.

 

“The first time a man pushed me to my knees in a bathroom stall I let him, my back wasn’t exposed and I couldn’t be bothered to tell him I didn’t do that…I couldn’t feel anything, but when it was over he was shaking so hard he could barely stand and the screams in my head they got quieter, I could almost breathe again.” His voice pitches higher and the words are flowing faster and faster.

 

“So I did it again and again, until I couldn’t hear them anymore.” Derek clutches his hands together, so tight that John can see his knuckles turn bone white with the strain.

 

There’s a stark expectation in the dulled eyes John looks into, the normally glittering colours dim and lack-lustre and he feels that diminishment like a physical pain.

 

“I don’t even know why I’m telling you all of this. All the things I’ve done, the people I’ve hurt…the laws I’ve broken.” Shaking his head, Derek turns away. “You’ll hate me and if you don’t hate me then you’ll pity or despise me for being so weak.”

 

“Do you trust me?” John digs his fingers into his thigh waiting for the answer. The pain a distraction from reaching across the table and hauling Derek into his arms and never letting him go.

 

“Yes.”

 

There’s no hesitation as Derek’s head snaps back around, no avoidance of his gaze and the sigh of relief John makes at hearing that one word is a long, shuddering exhale from the very depths of his being. His cramping fingers release and he flexes them against his leg.

 

“Then that’s why. If you trust me, then trust that when I look at you I don’t feel pity or hate. I see a good man. A man who’s endured and survived things that most people couldn’t in the only way you knew how.” He breathes out from deep in his lungs, bracing himself for what he’s about to say.

 

“ ** _I_** need you to consider therapy—” Derek makes an unhappy sound and John holds up his hand. “No, listen please. I care about you Derek and it kills me to think that if we take this any further, particularly the physical side, I may end up hurting you.”

 

Derek’s shaking his head furiously, mouth tight and downturned mutinously. “Hurting me.” He says incredulously. “Being with you this morning…that’s the happiest I’ve felt in a long time. You won’t hurt me and I won’t hurt you.”

 

“Not deliberately, but you’ve used sex to deal with your past and your grief in ways that aren’t healthy—“

 

Derek sits bolt upright, his eyes glowing, wild and blue, his fingertips dragging over the table top as he starts to stand and John can hear the scrape of claws raking over the timber surface.

 

“Don’t you judge me John, when you know nothing about it.” Bitterness coating each word as he glares at him.

 

Quickly reaching across he grabs both of Derek’s hands, holding on tight as the younger man tries to pull away. His claws puncturing his skin, making him wince.

 

“That’s the problem I do know. I’m not judging you Derek, more than anything **_I_** understand. You use sex and I use alcohol.” The tension in Derek’s hands releases abruptly, claws retracting and the hold becomes one less of restraint and more of comfort, John gently rubs his thumb over Derek’s knuckles. The blue glow in Derek’s eyes flickers out, leaving them dark and sad as he sits back down heavily in his chair.

 

“The last stages of Claudia’s dementia were—“ John pauses he can’t even begin to explain how truly terrible it was to see someone you love, to see the person they were disintegrate before your very eyes like that.

 

“It was bad. Her memory was gone and her body was following, she’d become this frail and lifeless thing, her spark was gone…she wasn’t the woman who kissed me first thing when she woke up and last thing at night no matter what. She wasn’t the woman who when she smiled—“ John swallows with difficulty, his throat tightening with emotion, choking on it as he remembers that no matter how bad a day he might’ve been having her smile had always made him feel that everything was going to be alright.

 

It was the same one she’d given him as they’d walked into the Specialist’s office to get her test results.

 

“I couldn’t bear to be around her like that, took on extra shifts at the Department…not just because we needed the money, ‘cause God knows we did, but so I didn’t have to sit in that room and see her drift away from me.” Bitter regret fills him and he can see Derek’s nose twitch and wonders if he can scent it on him, how very much he wishes he’d done things differently.

 

“But, Stiles…God that kid, ten years old and he didn’t hesitate. Stayed with her for hours while I was at work, helping her to eat, reading her favourite books, playing her music and just talking.” The family photos that line the hallway are in his line of sight, framed by the kitchen doorway just behind Derek and John can see one of Stiles from around that time. Smaller than other kids his age, but so much smarter, streets ahead smarter, with those huge brown eyes and a gap-toothed smile as he blew out the candles on his cake. His son.  His wonderful, amazing son.

 

“He never stopped talking to her like she could understand every word, even when there were times she didn’t know him, times when she accused him of terrible things. Until one day, he was the only one there and she…” John looks away, even now it still hurts, sharp and piercing. Licking his suddenly dry lips he tries to refocus. “Her poor heart simply stopped and Stiles…he told me later, that he never let go of her hand the entire time because he didn’t want her to feel alone.”

 

John remembers walking into the room and Claudia’s face was peaceful, wasn’t nearly anywhere as ravaged and haggard as when she’d been alive. Stiles hadn’t let anyone take her away or cover her up, standing guard over her, little body trembling with grief until he’d arrived. He’d thrown himself at John then, trying to climb up his body and burrow into his chest, while John scooped him up and held him tight crying as his little boy had whimpered “Daddy…Daddy” over and over, before calling out ‘Mom’ in a single agonized wail of pain and loss.

 

“It was guilt. That’s what started it. It gnawed away at my gut that my son, at ten years old, was a braver, better man than I was. One drink at night became two, then became three, then before I knew it I was needing a whole bottle to get any effect. To forget.”

 

Derek gently squeezes his hand when John becomes lost in those bitter memories of Stiles having to look after the both of them, an eleven year old, cleaning and cooking and doing all the things that he should’ve been doing as a father instead of getting falling-ass down drunk. They still have the power to sting and wound if he lets them and he presses back gratefully.

 

“When I started to need a drink before going to work Stiles left me.”

 

“What?” Derek blinks, startled and tilts his head like he can’t possibly have heard right. John smiles ruefully at his all too obvious disbelief, whether it’s from knowing John had needed alcohol like a prop to function at all or that there’d been a time when there had been an estrangement, no matter the duration, between the Stilinski men, it didn’t matter.

 

“Yep. I woke up late one morning after an all-night bender, head hurting, mouth so vile that I wanted to vomit and honestly that would’ve tasted better and next to me on the couch was a note and a pamphlet. The note was from Stiles, suffice to say that he was staying at the McCall’s for a while and that I should read the information. It was from a local counsellor’s office on ‘Grieving and alcohol’.”

 

That note had about killed him, Stiles hadn’t held back. It was permanently etched in his memory, the childish scrawl making it all the more powerful, the hurtful truths as seen through an 11 year old’s eyes.

 

_Dad,_

_Mrs McCall says I need to write this so you don’t worry, I told her it didn’t matter because I don’t think you would notice if I was there or not, but she said I had to, so here goes._

_I’m staying at Scott’s, Mrs McCall says until you feel more like yourself, I think it’s until you get killed on duty._

_I was wrong to think we’d stick together. I miss Mom so much, I just didn’t know that when she died I would lose you too._

_But, if you want to be my Dad again, please read the pamphlet, maybe go see them._

_I miss you. I love you._

_Your son, Stiles_

 

“It was a God awful wake up call, knowing that Stiles thought I was an alcoholic. What made it all the worse was that he was right.” John rubs his hand over his face and then up and over the crown of his head, fingers combing through the short strands of his hair, until he reaches the back of his neck and massages his fingers in deep where his shoulder joins, trying to release the knots of tension that feel like they’ve formed there permanently.

 

“Much as I didn’t want to admit it, I needed help. My head and my heart couldn’t cope with all the guilt, anger and fear I was feeling, couldn’t cope with the grief of losing not only my wife, but my son as well.”

 

“Stiles loves you so much though. All the things he’s done and gone through to protect you. Hell, he’s even got a deal with Sue at the diner to only give you a salad no matter what you order.” Derek shakes his head in bewilderment, unable to reconcile what John’s telling him with what he’s witnessed with his own eyes.

 

“It took a long time to repair the damage and I’m just grateful he gave me the opportunity to be his father again. It’s not been perfect on either side, but I couldn’t have done it without seeing someone. No way, not without help.” John says earnestly. He needs Derek to try and okay there are some selfish reasons in there as well, mainly so he’d stop feeling like he’s taking advantage of someone so wounded and—

 

“I’m a possessive man. I don’t share.” He bites out sharply, Derek jerks noticeably at the abrupt subject change. John lets his eyes run over Derek’s body in such a proprietary way that he wonders if the wolf can feel it.

 

Maybe he does, if the way Derek sucks in a sharp breath as he shifts restlessly in his seat is any indication.

 

“You’re mine Derek.” His nostrils flare angrily as he thinks about Derek in the Club’s bathroom last night. “I will hurt someone badly if they touch you again, so I need to know if we’re together will you still need to…go to the clubs?” He daren’t label it with anything more specific, it sets his teeth on edge simply thinking about it.

 

There’s a flash of something darkly primal that looks back at him through Derek’s eyes, something that acknowledges his claim and surrenders to it with a satisfaction and approval at his threat of violence that jolts through John like an electric current. As swiftly as it appears it draws back allowing Derek’s humanity to the fore once again. He wonders if he’s just been given a peek at the wolf that lives within his boy.

 

“I don’t know.” Derek says uncertainly, he obviously sees the way John flinches as he rushes on, a nervous tremor in his voice. “I’ve never been with anyone…together for long enough to know.”

 

The revelation that Derek’s never had a relationship for any length of time that didn’t involve death, betrayal or ulterior motives of some sort has John’s gut churning sickeningly and all the anger, frustration and bloodlust leaches away almost instantly. Paige, Kate, Jennifer—Stiles had filled him in on that disturbing assault with dark magic—then finally after the fiasco in Mexico, Braeden had ditched Derek after using him as supernatural back-up to her mercenary activities before heading off onto her next bounty hunt with hardly a backward glance.

 

Even back then Derek had drawn his attention, at the time he’d still considered the younger man dangerously unpredictable so if he kept a close eye on him it wasn’t something he considered unusual. However, that close observation had allowed him to see more of the ‘real’ Derek Hale than he’d anticipated, the flickers of carefully hidden hurt in Derek’s expression on his return to Beacon Hills had reminded John not so much of a wolf, but an abandoned puppy that couldn’t understand why it had been kicked to the curb and dumped.

 

Maybe that’s when it had started for him, seeing the hurt, vulnerable man beneath the wolf. Seeing how much beneath the wariness, Derek wanted to love and be loved in return, that no matter what had happened to him, that longing was still there.

 

“Would you come to me if you…if you feel that urge again?” John says quietly, trying to make his expression as open and neutral as possible, aware that Derek’s studying his face closely, he assumes for any sign of judgement or condemnation. “Day or night, it doesn’t matter you call me.”

 

Derek’s chewing on his lower lip, gnawing at it with an intensity that leaves it puffy and raw-looking, before he lets it go and it’s almost instantly perfect and lush again. Slowly he nods his head in agreement and something tight in John’s chest loosens slightly. It’s not an absolute, but it’s a start.

 

He can’t stop the need to press for more though. “The Department’s hired a new psych on my recommendation, so if I arrange it with Marin Morell, would you go and see her? You wouldn’t have to hide anything about who you are or…about what’s happened.”

 

Derek’s frowning, his eyesbrows slashing in a deep ‘V’ on his forehead, and John can feel his breath catch in his throat with anxiety the longer the silence draws out. “Okay.”

 

“Really?” John questions, not quite able to believe Derek’s agreeing. The younger man nods his head hesitantly and the lines that furrow deeply on his face relax and disappear. John feels almost giddy in relief, shoulders slumping as the tension releases.

 

“If it’s okay with you, I’d like to see you outside of work.” John smiles widely. “I’d love to be with you like this all the time, but I think we need to take it slow…maybe go out, maybe catch a game.” He waves his hand towards the lounge room where the large flat screen is.

 

“Go out?” Derek says, his cheeks flushing and his eyes bright. “You mean like a date?”

 

“If you want it to be. Whatever you’re ready for—”

 

“Yes.   Yes. I’d really like that.” Derek looks down at his hand which is still entwined with John’s and he can just make out the little curve upwards at the corner of the younger man’s lips. Reaching out with his free hand he tilts Derek’s chin up with his finger and sees the soft, sweet smile that makes him feel a warmth flare in his chest and it feels so damn good.

 

“Don’t hide from me.” John whispers and before he knows it he’s leaning halfway across the table and pulling Derek out of his seat towards him so their lips brush in a kiss that starts gentle and slowly burns through his veins and quickly ramps up to scorching and desperate leaving John trembling as he feels his legs go weak and he slides back heavily into his chair. Derek’s eyes are closed, long dark lashes fanning across the delicate skin, red lips moist and still parted as though he’s still tasting the kiss.

 

John’s cock throbs powerfully against his leg. Fuck, he must be mad to think he can resist him and not go too far when every touch, every kiss sparks like a match strike.

 

Clearing his throat, John watches with hungry satisfaction as Derek’s eyes flutter open and they’re dazed and heavy-lidded. “I’d like to think we can be professional at work.”

 

“Professional.” Derek echoes faintly, nodding his head slowly in agreement.

 

John reaches across and twines his fingers with Derek’s. The warmth of it travelling up his arm and into his chest, for the life of him he can’t remember being this happy in a long, long time. “I’ll chase up your car with Mac, see how long it’s going to be and I’ll drop you at your place.”

 

They sit there for the longest time, holding hands at John’s kitchen table, neither of them willing to let go just yet.

 

It’s not until later that night curled all alone in his bed that smells of Derek and sex, with a raging hard on between his thighs and an aching emptiness in his arms, that it strikes John that his boy agreed far too easily to counselling.  

 

Rolling onto his back, John stares intently at the ceiling he can’t see in the darkness but knows is there, just like the trouble he can feel coming his way.

 

His boy. Yeah, somehow he had the feeling that this wasn’t going to be easy at all.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frustration with the slow pace of their building relationship gnaws at Derek's control and their working one is tested when John discovers Derek's not been completely open about his therapy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all for the kind comments and kudos.
> 
> Unbeta'ed.

[J D McPherson - Wolf teeth](https://vimeo.com/43937533)

 

Professional. Derek ponders the word as he struggles to concentrate on his paperwork, all the time conscious that his eyes keep drifting to John’s empty office. God knows he’s tried, but whenever those pale blue eyes catch hold of his in just **_that_** way, Derek’s temperature rises, sweat pooling at the base of his spine and his breathing hitches, until he’s practically panting for the older man. Cock swollen to what feels like bursting point, he’s fed up with having to carry around a clipboard that he doesn’t even use just to hide his frequent erections. Painfully engorged erections that have him rushing to the bathroom to jerk off, brutally quick, so he can try and do some actual police work.

 

He’s been going so often that Jordan actually suggests that he speaks to Melissa about all the peeing, that maybe there’s a problem with his prostate that even werewolf healing can’t help. Derek’s never wanted anything more in his whole life than for the floor beneath him to simply open up into a great big hole that he can pitch himself into, headfirst preferably, his face on fire as he denies anything’s wrong. There’s no way he can tell his friend that the only thing wrong with his prostate is that it isn’t getting banged, hard and fast, by John’s big dick.

 

It’s been three and a half weeks since John had found him and brought him home. Three and a half weeks of gradually increasing frustration, of John slowly driving him out of his mind. He’s pretty sure it’s not even intentional, the way John stands close to him all the time, right up close so Derek can feel the heat radiating from his body, his scent wrapping around him seductively or the way his voice drops a full octave every time he asks if he can come around to the loft after his shift – never taking it for granted. Then there’s the way he’s always touching him. A big, warm guiding hand low on his back that he can feel through his shirt like a brand, fingers brushing over his when he passes him some paperwork, patting his arm in approval or clasping his shoulder in reassurance. It has him in a constant state of shivering awareness and that’s just at work.

 

When they’re together at the loft it’s…amazing. They’ve not had a chance to go on an actual date yet, instead meeting at his place, not every night, maybe every second or third, depending on their shifts and Derek switches his ipod on low in the background while John pours him a glass of sweet white wine and grabs himself a soda with ice.

 

Derek’s learned to appreciate some of John’s favourite songs, feels like he’s living the lyrics of the Boss’ “I’m on fire”, and while John likes his rock and roll circa 1970’s and 1980’s and Derek prefers some of the more contemporary bluesy artists he can’t help but feel pleased when John nods in approval at his choice of J.D. McPherson and his retro sound. The older man laughing delightedly when “Wolf Teeth” comes on and he hears some of the lyrics.

 

Cooking together and sharing a meal with someone else, someone important to him, fills him with a happiness that he can’t remember feeling for so long that he wonders how he’s been able to keep going without it. The reality of how alone he’d actually been is painful in the knowing. Seeing John out of uniform, in jeans and a crisp untucked button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, showing off his strong forearms that are dusted with a light golden fuzz of hair is so fucking hot, Derek’s constantly aroused and half-hard all the time. Seeing him so relaxed and at ease in his home has his wolf keening in sheer joy. He wants to keep him there forever.

 

Working together in the kitchen, he can’t resist pressing his body into John’s back as he prepares the ingredients, cutting up vegetables or dicing the meat for whatever recipe they’re following that night, his hands gripping the other man’s hips, nuzzling at his nape and breathing in his scent so John’s a part of him. The way John’s heartbeat picks up speed and his ass fleetingly presses back into the ache of his groin has his wolf rumbling deep with pleasure, throttling up even more when John turns saying his name low and husky before gathering him in close and whispering wickedly in his ear ‘ _my boy, my sweet, sweet boy_ ’ every time. It leaves him whining, trembling with want and burying his face into John’s neck as the older man leads him into a slow dance, swaying back and forth across the kitchen floor, bodies brushing against each other setting off sparks from chest to thigh.

 

As they eat at the solid oak dining table, they talk about their day, the things they’ve seen, people they’ve talked to. Derek listens to John’s tales, which he tells with such accurate impersonations of the people involved, he startles both of them the first time when he laughs long and loud not able to contain himself and John looks surprised then sweetly smug that he’s drawn that out of him. John’s still rostering Jordan with him when he needs a partner and Derek understands and resents it in equal measure, because if it had been the two of them in the close confines of a SUV he’s not too sure he’d be able to resist reaching out and touching. It’s nice having someone to listen and talk to, to be heard again, to be a part of someone’s life. When John leaves it’s the echo of his voice that fills the empty spaces of the loft that Derek hears now, not Boyd’s or Isaac’s.

 

John’s teaching him chess and after their meal and cleaning up the kitchen, they usually move to the big open living area with their coffees, music humming sensually in the background. Sitting on the huge cushions either side of the low coffee table, that Derek bought from Ikea for just this, they pick up where they left off previously. John tries to teach him, but no matter how much he swears that this time he’s going to stay focused, Derek can’t help but get distracted when the older man purses his lips into a delicious pout as he thoughtfully scrutinizes the board or how the corners of his eyes crinkle up happily when Derek somehow blunders into making a good move.

 

He’s learned though that he can be just as distracting to John too, it’s taken some getting used to the idea that John welcomes his touch, encourages it even, so he’s still slightly hesitant when one night he reaches across and threads his fingers with John’s and plays with them. Stroking each one individually from the base to the tip, up and down, over and over while he waits for him to make a move. John huffs out a shaky breath and Derek lifts his gaze from the board to meet dazed blue eyes, John’s pupils expanding dark and wide as he watches. Derek’s dick perks up alert to any possibility of being touched by the other man and twitches in disappointment when John abruptly shakes his head to clear it and declares in a hoarse rasp that it’s time for him to head home.

 

And right there is the crux of Derek’s problem. Whenever things start to get really interesting, John pulls back and heads home leaving Derek horny, frustrated and so in love with him for not rushing or pushing him into a physical relationship that he could cry. It’s a conundrum that he can’t figure out a solution to, he’s grateful that the older man is giving him time, much as he didn’t want it at the start, letting them become comfortable with each other before taking it any further, even though his whole body is screaming at him to take it further…right now, damn it. It’s taken him nearly the full three and a half weeks to realise that while his body is more than willing, his mind is fighting him because he’s scared. Scared that **_after_** , John will leave him or worse betray him like everyone else has. It’s completely irrational because he trusts the older man so completely, but history and bitter experience have left emotional scar tissue that tugs and pulls painfully at his psyche threatening to tear it wide open.

 

Work does help, allowing him to focus on other things and his solve rate is steadily climbing because of his fixation. It’s only moments after he mentally tells himself to ‘get a grip’ and manages to drag his eyes away from John’s name on his office door to actually read the report on a stolen car from another County, which he suspects is linked to the gang of car thieves that have been getting more brazen and more violent in Beacon Hills, when John stalks into the bullpen. Derek tenses, if John’s grim expression didn’t give it away, his scent certainly would. It’s sharp and bitter.

 

“Hale. My office. Now.” John snaps before walking into his office. Derek swallows hard. Oh yeah, is he pissed. His wolf whines anxiously and all thoughts of professionalism at work are completely invalidated by the primal instinct to follow his angry Alpha mate into his den and expose his belly and bare his throat to the dominant man.

 

Jordan’s eyebrows are high and his eyes wide at John’s tone as he looks from the Sheriff’s office to Derek at his desk. Derek shrugs at him trying for nonchalant, before glaring fiercely at Boone, the dick, who is snickering over by the photocopier. Derek’s pretty sure he’s not dropped fang or flashed his eyes, but there must be something about his expression because the other man pales and quickly turns away.

 

Satisfaction bolsters him for the briefest of moments, before dissipating like smoke when Derek enters the office and finds himself the focus of John’s intent stare, his heart is racing and all his muscles twitch. He’s torn between what the wolf wants, obeying and pacifying his mate, and what his human part wants, to protect them both from revealing too much in front of curious eyes. He hates feeling this way and any other time he’d retreat into himself if he can’t physically remove himself from such a divisive situation and let silence be his answer, but this time a wild recklessness rises within him fuelled maybe by the frustrations of the last few weeks.

 

“You wanted to see me, **_Sir_**.” He growls out. The choice of words perfectly polite, but he can hear the snappy, belligerent tone in his voice and it feels good to react, to be pissy, even though his churning stomach almost instantly plummets down to somewhere near the region of his feet when he sees the dangerous flash of barely suppressed fury burning in John’s blue eyes.

 

“Shut the door.” John orders tersely. Derek closes the door and immediately moves to the chair that the older man points to, sitting on the edge as John leans against his desk in front of him, arms folded across his broad chest.

 

“Why has Marin Morell just cornered me at the courthouse telling me that you’ve missed the last three appointments with her, due to a big case you’re working on and that I should free up more time for you to go?” The fingers of one hand tap impatiently, one after another, in a rippling wave against a taut bicep. “Why did you lie to me? Everytime I asked how it was going you just said ‘ _fine_ ’.”

 

Derek stiffens. He’d known that it would eventually get back to John. Known it, but couldn’t stop himself from avoiding going anywhere near the Department’s new psych. The first appointment had felt like torture. Not that Marin had pressured him to talk or more to his surprise asked him any questions that he thought were overly unreasonable or prying. She’d been patient and professional with his halting answers, even poured him a glass of water when he’d started to sweat, his uniform shirt damp with dark patches down his sides. They hadn’t even gone into his “issues”, it had been what she called an ‘introductory’ session. A getting to know each other.

 

But, sitting there in that office, he’d felt – small and breakable. That all the parts that were Derek Hale that he’d thought he’d managed to glue back together were on the verge of shattering apart and he wasn’t sure he’d be able piece himself back together again.

 

He couldn’t explain it. Couldn’t even begin to put into words the feeling. The closest he could come to was that he was a failure and he knew it, but what scared him was if she confirmed it, would John see it in him too? At the moment, John looked at him like he was someone he could count on, someone that he could trust and he loved that the older man saw him that way. If it was pointed out to him what a loser Derek really was, what a danger to all those around him, would he turn away from him? His stomach rolled violently.

 

“I didn’t lie. It is **_fine._** I’ve just been too busy working on the car thefts up around the Heights.” It wasn’t a lie. It wasn't.  Derek **_had_** been tracking the gang members who’d been targeting high-end vehicles from the more affluent part of town, trying to get a fix on their bolthole. “They’re good. Quick. In and out, know which vehicles to take and usually draw next to no attention while they’re doing it.”

 

“I agree they’re professional and got melon-size cahonies going back for the Spider, but it’s an ongoing investigation, one you don’t need to avoid going to your appointments for.” John’s voice is stern, but calmer than it had been. The bitter scent surrounding the older man not as pungent.

 

“I think I’ve got it figured out though.” Derek begins, willing the older man to listen. John holds his eyes for a moment before nodding for him to continue. “Out of the few times we’ve been able to track a stolen car, it disappears somewhere around Hellsgate and all the transport depots that are out there linking up to the rail lines.”

 

Derek sits forward in his seat. ‘Hellsgate’ or Hillsgate Street is a borderline, cross over and you’re in the seedy underbelly of Beacon Hills. It’s a mainly industrial area, with some residential homes and cheap motels spilling over its borders, but most of it is factories and warehouses. Too many of them derelict and abandoned, the production lines stopping years ago, but they’re not completely empty, instead housing the homeless, mentally ill and drug addicted.

 

Hillsgate Street itself, is lined with motels that charge by the hour for the local streetwalkers and their clients, sleezy sex shops with peep shows that for enough money the drug-addicted performers will do anything that a small cubicle allows, run-down bars and strip clubs interspersed with a few shady pawn shops which don’t question ownership too closely, all of which encourages a flourishing and dangerous triangle of drugs, prostitution and fencing of stolen goods. The rail lines run through the heart of this tarnished section of Beacon Hills and a number of transport companies have their depots based there, to pick up freight and truck it out by road through that part of the state.

 

The number of semi’s that move about in the area is huge.

 

“I think they’re using a truck.” Derek says. “At least one, maybe two.”

 

“A truck to what—“ John stops dead and Derek can see the sudden flash of dawning understanding cross his frowning features, he stands and moves to the large pinup board behind his desk and examines the detailed map of Beacon Hills tacked up on it that shows all the major transport links in and out of town.

 

Derek moves to stand beside him. “We’ve been looking at this the wrong way, we’ve been looking for a chop shop and the cars being broken down and yet none of our informants have seen or heard of any new players and some of the vehicles taken are unique enough that if any parts appeared on the market they’d send up red flags in a heartbeat.”

 

John nods his head in agreement, listening thoughtfully and Derek feels a wonderful mix of pride and satisfaction that he listens to his theories so open-mindedly.  He doesn't want that to change. “That’s not what these guys do. I think they’ve got a shopping list, which is why they went back for the McLaren, they’ve already got customers waiting for the cars they want and every time they get one it ends up being hidden in the trailer until things quieten down and they’re ready to move it out.”

 

John points a finger to a couple of locations on the map. “There’s a couple of truck stops out there that the long-haul guys go to and park it up for a break. What’s one more rig with twenty or more others?”

 

“That’s right, I think it’d be real easy to miss. I’ve been checking around for thefts with similar M.O’s and there’s a couple that could be our guys in another county, I’m just waiting to hear back from the investigating officer. I’ve got their report, but I want to hear his take on it. It looks like they’re working their way up the line, setting up wherever they can blend in.” Derek runs his finger along the train line and John moves his hand at the same time, tracing his finger over the map so they intersect. The light brush of their fingers sends an electric pulse of sheer want through Derek’s nervous system and he hisses between his front teeth.

 

“Good work.” John growls. The look in his eyes is one of such heated approval and admiration, Derek feels the uncontrollable urge to preen before his Alpha and his cock jerks in his pants, the zipper pressing into rapidly swelling flesh.

 

“John.” He groans the older man’s name brokenly, all formality forgotten in the rush of sensation.   It’s a harsh plea, begging him for everything and nothing, painfully conscious that the blinds on the Sheriff’s office windows are open. Anyone in the bullpen can see straight in, can see how close they’re standing to one another and he drops his hand to his side, fingers still tingling like mad.   He’s all twisted up inside, his wolf not caring, wanting everyone to see that he belongs to John and has claimed the older man for his own, while his human part is all too aware that gossip and innuendo could damage John’s reputation to the point that it may harm his chances for re-election in the ballot that’s coming up in the next 18 months.

 

John shifts his stance slightly so that they are standing closer, practically shoulder to shoulder, and lets his hand also fall to his side. Derek jerks at the feel of the back of their hands touching. Back and forth, John deliberately brushes his knuckles against Derek’s sending a wave of goosebumps rippling over his skin making him shiver uncontrollably, he can’t help but turn his head slightly so he can look at the other man’s face. There’s an intensity in John’s eyes that turns his insides into molten liquid and the way his tongue darts out and flickers over his pink lower lip is a siren call and Derek has to catch himself before he leans in and allows his tongue to join in and lap at the succulent flesh.

 

“I want to kiss you so bad.” John rasps. Derek nods his head in agreement because he wants that too and just hopes that from outside this office it still looks remotely like they’re examining the map and conferring like the professional law enforcement officers they are and not simply two men who desperately want to tear each other’s clothes off.

 

“Please.” It’s almost a whimper and John’s eyes darken in response, his throat working hard as he swallows over and over.

 

“I want to more than kiss you.” He declares tightly, voice hot and thick with sex. “I want to bend you over my desk and fuck you. Make you scream out my name so everyone can hear and because you’re my good boy you’d let me…you’d beg me for it.”

 

“Fuck.” The strangled sound Derek makes then is dripping with such lust he’s almost embarrassed to hear it. He can picture it, John pushing into him, thick and hard, as he braces against his desk, pants and underwear down around his ankles, bare-assed, dick slapping hard into his belly with every thrust and looking out the office windows into the bullpen and seeing all of their co-workers watching them with equal amounts of hunger and jealousy. He would beg because he wants to be John’s good boy so bad and John would reward him by fucking him with his big fat cock, pounding into his ass until he says Derek can come. Streams of his hot white release spraying over the desk and all of John’s paperwork.

 

The head of his dick pulses and he can feel the pre-come oozing out of the tip and he wants to squirm at the perverse deliciousness of it all. He stumbles back to the chair and slumps heavily into it, limbs weak and trembling uncontrollably as he palms himself, pressing down hard, trying to keep from coming in his pants like a damn pup.

 

“You can’t say that and expect me not to…to— fucking react.” Derek spits out furiously. His eyes raking over John who’s still facing the map, his shoulders tense and his hands clenching and unclenching into tight fists at his sides before he quickly adjusts himself then turns around to sit down behind the cover of his desk. Derek’s half out of his seat when he catches the briefest glimpse of the huge bulge at the front of John’s pants before he manages to regain control of himself and collapse back into his chair with a pained grunt.

 

The office is filled with their shared panting breaths. The atmosphere heavy, crackling with electricity, as they simply stare across the span of the desk that is between them, the only barrier to them having what they need. John’s eyes glitter hotly at him, his chest rising and falling, hard and fast. The barely restrained power that the other man exudes is intoxicating, seductive, and Derek is mesmerized by him. Held in thrall to the need simply to be near him, he feels weak, exhausted from the overwhelming rush of emotions and desires that rip through him, stripping him of all common sense and inhibition.

 

“I dream of you at night.” John says so matter-of-factly that it takes Derek a moment to comprehend what he’s saying.

 

“John—“ Derek begins, not even sure how to respond to that, ‘ _me too_ ’ springs to mind.

 

“When I wake up you’re not there, not in my arms where you should be.” John continues hoarsely, the tightly coiled thread of sexual tension between them slowly unwinding to an almost bearable level. “I want you to be there when I go to sleep, I want you to be there when I wake up.”

 

Derek nods his head in agreement. That’s what he wants too, only he can hear the underlying words that John’s not saying ‘ _but I can’t’._

 

“Marin’s been kind enough to re-schedule and fit you in for an appointment at three this afternoon.” Derek tenses. This is sounding more and more like an ultimatum. John’s pushing him, pushing him so his back’s against the wall and it puts him on edge. He wants everything that John’s offering, wants it so bad that it’s a constant ache inside him, but he’s not sure that he can simply put aside all his fears and doubts that he’s lived with for so long now that have translated into needs and compulsions that he’s only now finding the strength to question.

 

“I was going to check out some of those truck stops this afternoon with Jordan.” Derek replies evenly, wondering how he’s managing to sound so reasonable when his insides are churning so violently.

 

“I’ll go with Parrish.”

 

“This is my case.” Derek growls, a flash of anger firing through his brain, warranted or not he's in such turmoil he can’t decide.

 

“They’re all **_my_** cases and right now I’m assigning myself and Jordan. You need to go to your appointment.” John bites out.

 

“And if I don’t will you suspend me?”

 

“No.” John replies calmly, almost too calmly, and Derek sits back in surprise before he notices the tic of tension in the older man’s jaw. “But, I’ll know where **_we_** stand.”

 

The rage and frustration boils up within Derek then, hot and scalding. He can’t be here, can’t be with John and hear what is tantamount to a declaration of intent regarding the two of them. He’s at the office door, hand on the knob, before he realises he’s even gotten out of the chair.

 

“DEREK.”

 

He stops, not daring to look back, feeling like his walls will crumble completely if he does and he needs them, needs time to shore them back up.

 

“Please…go to the appointment.” John’s plea is so heartfelt and yet sounds so sad, it hurts him that he’s causing the other man pain. Hurts him, but he can’t seem to stop. The reins of his control are marked, one with anger the other fear, and it doesn’t matter which one he draws on they are so inextricably tangled together that he can no longer tell the difference. “Please. Not for me or for anyone else. For you, go for you.”

 

There’s no doubting the genuine concern in John’s voice. No matter what happens between them personally or professionally, John would always want him to get help. It’s what makes him such a good man, that he thinks of everyone else’s wellbeing and happiness before his own. If he was the type of man to take what Derek was offering without a second thought, he doubted that he would feel so much for him, so intensely. God knows that John’s been hanging onto his self-control by his fingernails over the past weeks, with each kiss goodnight his hands hold him closer, grip tighter, his mouth hotter and hungrier before he’s able to drag himself away.

 

There’s nothing to say, mainly because he doesn’t know what to say and even if his thoughts weren’t as chaotic as they are now, he still doubts his ability to articulate anything right at this very moment. Derek leaves, closing the office door quietly behind him and doesn’t look back.

 

John doesn’t approach him again, but Derek’s nape prickles in warning constantly throughout the morning, letting him know he’s being observed. He doesn’t look in the direction of John’s office, afraid that if he sees him he’ll cave and agree to see Marin, see any number of psychiatrists if that’s what the older man wanted.

 

Derek’s typing up a report when he scents the man he can’t stop thinking about close by. That he inhales long and deep and finds comfort in those notes of oak and citrus conflicts with the lingering anger and betrayal he feels. When the warm weight of John’s hand rests on his shoulder unexpectedly his whole body stutters, fingers crashing heavily into the keyboard.

 

“Can I come around tonight? Just to talk.” John asks, his voice low and slightly hesitant as he hovers just behind him. “Please.” Derek hates to hear the uncertainty in the other man’s voice, hates knowing that he’s the one that’s put it there, but he’s just so confused and his emotions are all over the place and he needs to think.

 

“No.” He says to his computer screen, not daring to look John in the face when he hears the barely perceptible hitch in the older man’s breathing. Feeling suddenly overwhelmingly bereft when John’s fingers spasm, digging into his flesh possessively, before slipping off his body.

 

“I need time.” Derek murmurs weakly, feeling the heat of John’s body at his back. He can hear the rapid swallowing of John’s strong throat, can smell his distress in the not so subtle change to his scent with the acidic eye-watering scent of lemons left to rot on the tree. Anguish swells within his chest at how he’s fucking everything up. Can see and hear it happening, but can’t seem to stop it, can’t seem to find the words to let the best thing that’s ever happened to him know that he needs him and wants him so badly. Would do anything for him except give up his guilt. It’s been his for so very long now that he doesn’t know if he could carry on without it.

 

John coughs roughly, clearing his throat. “Of course.” He says thickly. “As much as you need.”

 

Derek closes his eyes as his chest constricts painfully tight with a band of mixed emotions that leaves him trembling in his chair. John’s moving away, taking with him the warmth that his presence always brings, that wraps around Derek leaving him safe and content. He’s almost out of the bullpen when Derek turns in his swivel chair.

 

“John.” Derek calls sharply, ignoring the couple of other Deputies that lift their heads up curiously at his urgent tone. John turns around, his eyebrows raised curiously and Derek can’t see anything else beyond the pale blue eyes that hold his.

 

“Be careful.”

 

It’s like a mask drops away before his very eyes, the stoic façade disappearing as what Derek can only describe as a hopeful expression lights up John’s face, that it’s for him is astounding. He smiles making his eyes crinkle in just that way which always makes Derek’s belly flip crazily at the sight and nods his head.

 

Jordan meets him at the door to the secured parking area and Derek doesn’t take his eyes off them until they disappear through the doorway.

 

He flicks a glance at the time display on his computer. Just under twenty minutes before he needs to leave for Marin’s office. There’s still time to call and cancel giving them a chance to maybe slot another patient into his appointment. His fingers twitch towards the phone on his desk and he forces himself to clasp his hands tight, fingers threaded, locked together.

 

Derek can all too easily picture John’s disappointed face if he calls it off, just as easily as he can picture his face if he goes. He vacillates wildly between doubt and certainty, the need to protect himself at odds with the need to please John. Not that he thinks John would be too pleased with him going purely for that reason. John was pretty clear, _‘not for me or anyone else, for you, go for you’_.  

 

It’s been so long since someone had thought about what **_he_** needs and what’s good for him above their own wants, his heart flutters crazily in his chest at the very idea. Could he do this? Could he open himself up to the past? Can he find the strength to forgive, when he’s also the one seeking forgiveness? Does he really want to be doing this for the rest of his life? He’s 28 now, will he still be needing to atone at 38 or 48 or beyond? Disgust curls in his stomach, pitching and rolling nauseatingly, bile rising acidly into his throat as he imagines himself as an old man still on his knees in some random bathroom.

 

He’s not sure he **_can_** forgive himself for what he’s done to his family, but surely that doesn’t mean he can’t find different ways to cope with it. To live with it. The past few weeks with John has shown him what his life could be like with someone who cares about him, who wants to be with him and he’s selfish enough to want it, badly. Sometimes, happiness feels like such an alien concept that it’s a struggle to contemplate it in relation to himself. He’s happy when he’s with the pack, seeing them living fulfilled, joyful lives together is a pleasure to witness and he would kill anyone or anything that tried to take that away from them. Being like them though, actually living and loving in that way rather than simply observing, is almost too hard to imagine.

 

But, he could with John. He could have that with him, of that he has no doubt whatsoever.

 

It’s a choice that’s harder than it would appear. Years of what John calls ‘punishing’ himself stretch endlessly in front of him, keeping the voices from drowning him in the sounds of their agony. There’s a bizarre comfort in the routine of it all. The certainty of atonement.

 

The alternative, being with John. The unknown future that awaits him if he dare take the chance that’s being offered. John may have said to get help for himself and not for anyone else and he gets that, even agrees with it, but he can’t not associate the older man with it.

 

Even if the therapy works, they may not last, may find out they’re not compatible physically (he seriously doubts that) or emotionally. Is it all worth the risk? Is John worth the risk of being hurt? It wouldn’t be something he could shrug off easily, it would be brutally painful, something he doubted he would ever recover from. If it worked though— fuck, if **_they_** worked he would never be alone again.

 

There’s no choice, not really.

 

He looks at the time again, stretches his hand out and snags the car keys that sit on his desk.

 

After signing out of the station, Derek’s sitting in the driver’s seat of his SUV and pulls the seatbelt across his chest and buckles in. The two-way radio crackling with communications between dispatch and the officers in the field fills the cab with noise when he hears a voice he instantly recognises. A voice that’s pitched unusually high and anxious with fear and tension.

 

“Shots fired. Corner of Erindale and Hillsgate Streets. Officer down. Officer down.” Derek’s paralysed, staring at the radio like he can will it to stop spewing forth the words that no Police Officer ever wants to hear. “God damn it, hurry…he won’t stop bleeding.”

 

His pulse feels thick and sluggish with all the ice that’s coursing through his body, he’s so cold. Chilled to the bone.

 

Derek listens to dispatch advise Jordan of the ETA of the ambulance to where he and John had come under fire. With shaking hands he turns the key in the ignition, cursing virulently as he snaps it clean off in the barrel. Barely restraining himself from ripping the steering wheel off in his frustration.

 

Brain dulled by shock and horror, he can’t seem to work out how to release himself from the seatbelt. Trapped, Derek uses his claws to free himself after frantically tugging and pulling on it to no avail.   The black straps fall from his shoulder and waist to the ground as he finds himself standing dazedly beside the useless vehicle, one hand on the open car door, the other holding the remnants of the vehicle’s key.

 

Clutching it tighter and tighter in his hand until he can scent his own blood, can feel it dripping from his fist, he takes a step. _Officer down._ Then another. _Officer down._ One after the other, faster and faster, until he’s running, not caring that he’s using his supernatural speed and stamina within the suburbs of Beacon Hills. Not caring that he risks exposure, when all he can hear in his head is Jordan’s barely controlled voice begging for help. For John.

 

Derek runs as fast as he can. As if his life depended on it because if anything happens to John then it very well might.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek's on the edge as he discovers what's happened to John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'ed.

“Where is he?” The voice is achingly familiar from beyond the closed curtain, even sounding so harsh and ragged. So lost.

 

“JOHN…JOHN.” Hearing his name called like that, with such obvious pain threaded through it, one part desperate and two parts anguished has him wincing. The sudden pin-drop silence from the usually noisy central hub of the ER floor is ominous, John knows that paramedics and the hospital staff in these frontline positions have all seen what emotion can do to ordinary people in stressful situations, some of it not pretty. Violence isn’t uncommon from the very people they’re trying to help.

 

God help them all, if it’s a werewolf no longer in control of their emotions that turns on them.

 

“Derek.” The name spills helplessly from his lips. John swings his legs off the bed, needs to speak to them, to head off the security guards they’ve surely alerted. His head thumps painfully in time with his skittish pulse, vision swimming in and out so that in the end all he can do is sit on the edge, not quite willing to trust his legs to hold him up and trying desperately not to puke.

 

When the standard ugly green cubicle curtains are jerked apart roughly, the loud clattering of the rings drives spikes of agony into his head. Squinting in pain John gapes at the sight of the distraught man standing in the entrance and wonders if he hit it harder than the doctors thought because Derek—to be honest, Derek doesn’t look like Derek at all.

 

This Derek looks ravaged. Lines of suffering mark his face leaving him pale and drawn, his eyes are dark hollows that have somehow sunk deep into his skull, wolf-blue pin pricks flaring in those depths. He can’t believe the drastic change in the younger man, all within the space of only a couple of hours since John last saw him.

 

“Oh…sweetheart.” John whispers, as stricken by his appearance as by his own conscience that whispers how he still finds him beautiful in all his tormented fragility.

 

Derek’s wrapped around him before he can even blink. Face pressed hard into his neck as he mutters indistinguishably and John can feel every shuddering, hitching breath on his skin, warm and moist. Derek’s fingers clutch at his shirt, clawing at the material with a desperation that he can feel down to his very bones. The younger man slotting his hips between John’s thighs, spreading them wide and so lewdly that at any other time it would have him so revved up and cock ready that Derek wouldn’t know which way was up by the time John was done with him. Only the full body tremors that rack Derek’s body aren’t from passion or desire, these are of grief and despair tempered by joy and relief. John’s experienced them himself a number of times, enough to recognise them all too easily.

 

When he’s finally able to determine what Derek’s saying, he has to suppress a cold shiver at the grim promise in the younger man’s voice. “I’m going to kill them.” He growls harshly against John’s throat.  "Kill them all."

 

“Ssshhh.” John hushes him. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”

 

“I should’ve been there.” The self-recrimination in his voice is a toxic blend of guilt and rage, it makes John feel ill to hear it knowing Derek carries enough of this type of poison without him adding to it.

 

“No.” He says sharply. “Don’t you dare take this on. This is the job. This is what I do…what we do.” John holds onto Derek’s biceps trying to impress upon him what he’s saying.

 

“If I’d only—”

 

“Fuck that.” John snaps out. “Seriously fuck that. I don’t want to hear what you should’ve done or I should’ve done because there’s only so much bullshit second guessing myself that I can stomach. The only ones responsible for any of this are being processed at the station or having a couple of rounds dug out of their chest in the OR. Okay?” Derek presses his face in harder and John feels something damp against his skin, can feel the hitch in the younger man’s breathing as his shoulders shift and all the tension in his body releases so suddenly Derek slumps over, falling into him with an ease and familiarity that is almost painful in the surrender.

 

“Okay?” John asks again, softer, feeling his own eyes start to burn as he swallows over and over again until the huge lump in his throat shifts and no longer threatens to choke him.

 

Derek lifts his head and nods, eyes red-rimmed and glittering as he simply stares at John, not blinking like he can’t bear to not see him for even that split-second of separation. The determination that suddenly crosses Derek’s face then is startling in its intensity, John shivers at being its focus. He can’t hold in the little squeak as Derek deliberately brushes his cheek over John’s. First, one then the other, before dipping downwards and angling his head to let John’s chin drag across the line of his throat. John’s witnessed this before, experienced it, the scenting between the wolves of his pack, but nothing prepares him for this. There’s scent marking and then there’s **_scent marking_** , this feels perilously close to the outright claiming of the latter and John marvels at his own reaction to it. He wants it. Wants the rasp of their stubbled skin sliding back and forth against each other, the delicious friction of it. Wants Derek to stake his claim on him, to let everyone else know that he’s taken, that he belongs to the wolf as much as the wolf belongs to him.

 

Drawing in open-mouthed, deep scenting breaths Derek follows the taut cord of John’s neck up over his ear, his nose brushing lightly over his temple, before he slowly pulls back. Dark, haunted eyes examine the bandage that is wrapped around his head like a sweatband and Derek looks like he wants to say something more, his lips opening and closing a number of times, but nothing emerges except a pained keen of distress.  

 

John wraps his arms around the younger man, holding him tight to his chest. Murmuring low in his ear random words of comfort and reassurance, soothing him with gentle hushes and letting his mouth brush over the curving rim of Derek’s ear, along the plane of his cheek to kiss each frantically fluttering eyelid to stillness, the taste of salt from wet lashes seeping between his lips. Derek surges up and presses his blazing hot mouth to John’s in a hard, searching kiss that he can feel all the way to his toes.

 

He can’t deny the hungry demand of it, the affirmation of life, that they are still here together and he returns the kiss in equal measure careless of the throbbing ache of his head, satisfaction racing through his veins when he hears the muffled moans that Derek makes against his mouth. The desperate glide and stroke of his tongue against his, leaves John’s head spinning and he feels so heavy, limbs weighed down by desire, the heat of their bodies merging and he could just lay back and let Derek—

 

“That’s enough of that.”

 

John jerks his head back in shock, grimacing at the spike of pain it causes, as Derek turns on the interloper with such a furious snarl, that John instinctively locks his legs around the younger man’s hips, afraid that he’s going to tear them to pieces.

 

“Nuh-uh Derek Hale, you do not growl at me like that.” Melissa McCall stands in the opening of the cubicle, folds her arms, tilts her hip and eyeballs him with laser beam precision. Derek snorts rudely as his face flows back to human from his beta shift and John pinches his side in rebuke.

 

“Do I have to put you out in the corridor till you remember your manners, young man?” Her chin lifts, normally warm brown eyes disturbingly cool, daring him to push her. The sharp no-nonsense tone seems to strike a chord in Derek and he ducks his head looking as sheepish as a wolf can.

 

“No Ma’am.” At her tsk of annoyance, Derek tries to recover. “Sorry Melissa.” Derek mumbles to the floor. John frankly admits whenever Melissa gets that look in her eye and that tone in her voice he runs for cover as fast and as hard as he can. When Jordan and she first announced that they were seeing each other, John’s opinion of his young Deputy went up a number of notches, mostly for the good sense he’d shown in snatching her up because Melissa’s one hell of a woman, but also for his bravery too, because she really is one hell of a woman and not one to cross in any way.

 

Pulling the cubicle curtain across to give them some small degree of privacy, her pretty face professionally stern as she points a finger at John.

 

“You, you’re meant to be resting. Back on the bed properly Mister.” Before directing it towards Derek. “–and you stop trying to stick your tongue down his throat. He’s got a brain injury.”

 

“Brain injury.” Derek whispers hoarsely and the colour he’d gained in his cheeks from their kiss rapidly drains away leaving him white-faced. He stumbles back from where he’s been lodged between John’s thighs, eyes huge with concern as he gently pushes him back down onto the bed and grabs his legs to help swing them back up. The head of it’s raised so John can sit upright and still see everything comfortably. Derek hovers at his side, the fingers of one hand gripping the half bed rail, white-knuckling it to the point that John worries it’s going to crumple in his hand under the strain.

 

“It’s not a brain injury, I bumped my head. It’s a bump.” John scowls, glaring at Melissa for frightening his boy, because she’s not scary at all wearing her pale pinky purpley scrubs.

 

Melissa moves towards the bed, the corners of her lips quirking and John has a strong suspicion it’s at him. “Thanks for that so eloquent diagnosis Dr Stilinski, but concussion is most definitely a brain injury. You were knocked out John and it doesn’t matter for how long, even as brief as it was, as far as the medical profession is concerned that qualifies. Not to mention the bullet wound—“

 

“Bullet wound.” Derek gasps and starts to sway back and forth on his feet.

 

“Derek…Derek…it was a graze, that’s all. Just a graze.” John says urgently grabbing the other man’s forearm to stop him from keeling over completely. Before he can get even one booted foot off the bed, Melissa’s quicker. She grabs Derek’s other arm, letting him lean into her. The 5 foot 6 vulnerable human nurse supporting the 6 foot supernaturally powerful werewolf. If he wasn’t so concerned about his boy, the contrast would amuse him no end.

 

“Come on Derek, let’s sit you down.”

 

She guides him to the chair next to the bed. Holds his wrist and looks at her watch as she takes his pulse, old school. “Way too fast, even for a werewolf.” She murmurs to herself.

 

John can see how gentle she is with his boy as she checks his eyes, her touch light and careful of him, and he’s so grateful that she seems to understand that for all his strength and power, this is something Derek needs. As much as he instinctively takes care of those around him, he needs to be cared for in return, craves it hungrily.

 

“You’re very clammy.” Holding the back of her hand to his forehead, she lets her eyes run over Derek’s body searchingly. John does the same, remembering the feel of the other man in his embrace just moments before, the furnace-like heat of his body and the scent of clean, masculine sweat coating his skin damply. He considers the large, dark patches on Derek’s uniform shirt just under his arms, the tight fist that is stained with red rust seeping between the fingers.

 

“Derek, how did you get here?” John asks carefully of the still dazed-looking man. “And what’s in your hand?”

 

Derek looks to his hands and slowly, almost bewilderedly, opens his clenched fist. John can’t quite work out what’s sitting in the palm of his boy’s hand, what he **_can_** see is that he’s been bleeding. Whatever the object is, its sharp edges have cut into Derek’s flesh and the flakes that are encrusted over his hand are remnants of dried blood.

 

“You’ve been bleeding.” John starts to sit up again when Melissa gives him a baleful look and mouths the word ‘stay’ silently at him. Grabbing some latex gloves and a sterile wipe from the cubicle’s set of drawers, she pulls them on and gently cups Derek’s hand with her own.

 

“Is that part of a key?” Melissa pokes at the black almost square shape, before picking it up and turning it over. “A car key?”

 

She drops it into the pocket of her scrubs, before swiping over the flesh of Derek’s palm, cleaning away the crust of blood. Though it’s as he expected, perfect pink skin gradually revealed due to the wolf’s healing ability, John still huffs silently in relief that the younger man is uninjured.

 

“It broke.” Derek says so mournfully, like he can’t believe how it had betrayed him by breaking, John has to control the twitch of his lips. “I was going to my appointment and I heard on the radio…I heard…and then it broke in the ignition and I couldn’t drive it…and I needed to find you.”

 

Melissa looks from Derek to John and back again and he can see the dawning realisation in her liquid brown eyes of what he’s just figured out himself. “So you ran. From the station to here.” She says in disbelief.

 

“I started to go to the scene, but a message came over the radio, that John was on his way here.” Derek says, not taking his eyes off John for one moment and John can feel his chest overflow with a warmth he hasn’t felt in a long time and he can feel the grin on his face that he can’t suppress. Not that he wants to.

 

“You were going?” He can’t help, but ask. “To your appointment?” He qualifies.

 

Derek smiles back tentatively. “I have it on very good authority that I have to do this for me.”

 

John chuckles softly at hearing his own words thrown back at him, before frowning in realisation.

 

“Damn it. So you missed it because of this.” He lifts a hand towards his bandaged head. “Crap.” John knows he sounds pissed off, he can’t help himself, because it was such a major step forward for Derek to voluntarily go to his session.

 

“I can make another time.”

 

John blinks, startled. He’d been preparing to coax and encourage the other man into going all over again, so he savours the reassurance that Derek won’t let this be a setback. It fills him with hope that feels so good, so right he wants to reach out and grab the younger man and pull him up onto the bed and curl around him forever.

 

“Now gentlemen, let’s get a few things straight.” Melissa stands up from where she’s been hunched over cleaning up Derek’s hand. Disposes of the wipe and then peels off her gloves before putting them into the hazard bin as well. She faces both men as she starts to talk, her eyes flashing that they better darn well listen and take it seriously.

 

“John the x-rays came back and thankfully you don’t have a skull fracture. I’m going to give you some ointment for your bullet graze which will sting like mad, but you need to use it. What you do have is concussion, which is not to be taken lightly, it can be very serious, but the doctor has said you can go home as long as you have someone to watch over you.” Derek sits forward intent on every word. Melissa flicks an amused glance towards him.

 

“I’m getting the impression, particularly from what I walked in on, that won’t be a problem. Derek, you’ll need to get him back here straight away if he has a headache that won’t go away even with the Tylenol he can take for pain relief. If there’s any nausea, confusion, slurred speech or one pupil larger than the other you bring him back here straight away or call for an ambulance. Right?”

 

“Yes, but I can take his pain.” Derek says almost eagerly, flexing his hand as though he’s ready to start pulling the pain out of him right now, not that John would object to being touched by him for any reason.

 

“Actually in this instance it would be better if you don’t.” Melissa explains warningly. “Sometimes pain is a good thing, it lets us know when there’s something really wrong and the pain sucky thing you can do is just too good, it works too well. So if John gets a headache that increases and overpowers the painkiller, that’s a warning sign we have to follow up on. Okay.”

 

Derek nods his head in understanding, but Melissa’s not finished yet. Her face softens as she looks at him fondly.

 

“As for you. You guys burn through calories so quickly, and running all over Beacon Hills, from downtown to here after receiving a shock, your tank is on empty. So I’m going to go and grab you a couple of stale sandwiches from the canteen, which you are going to eat regardless and some fluids to give your metabolism a boost and I think you’ll feel much better once you do. Okay?”

 

Derek nods, murmuring his thanks.

 

“Thanks Melissa.” John says, watching contentedly as she places her small, capable hands either side of Derek’s head and tilts it down. Pressing a kiss to his forehead she ruffles his hair lightly making his boy blush and duck his head shyly, his previous surliness forgotten. Melissa walks to his bedside, face serious and grabs hold of his hand, squeezing it, and leans down to kiss him on the cheek.

 

Huffing out a shaky breath, eyes glistening wetly, she pats him on the chest and he can feel the tremor in her fingers. “Don’t frighten us again, you hear me, John Stilinski.”

 

They’ve been through a lot together. Bringing their boys up on their own and then facing all the dangers and horror of what the nemeton had brought to Beacon Hills and their kids. John knew that Stiles and Scott had hoped that he and Melissa would get together and become a couple, they’d both been so pointedly cool with Jordan initially until John and Melissa had called them out on it and quite forcefully told them to back off. He does love her and he does admire her for the woman she is, however, it’s purely the love for a close friend. She’s his best friend and he’s so very thankful for it.

 

“And just so you know I called Stiles.” The tightness around her eyes lightens almost mischievously.

 

“Aww hell. Why did you go and do that for?” John rubs his thumb and forefinger over the ridge of his brow as he wonders how he can contact his son and stop him from freaking out.

 

“There is no way on God’s green earth that I would not let Stiles know his dad had been injured on duty, in a shootout, and was in my ER. My life would not be worth living.” She replies in all seriousness even as the corners of her lips quirk wildly.

 

“You couldn’t have waited?” John says plaintively. Melissa shakes her head as she starts to walk out of the cubicle, one hand on the curtain as she looks back over her shoulder.

 

“I spoke to Jordan a little while ago, the forensics unit is just finishing up at the scene and they’ve taken the two remaining guys to the station for booking. The other one’s still in surgery now, we should get an update soon on his condition. More importantly, I’ll get Jordan to take you home as soon as he can or we’ll end up with the rest of the Department in here checking up on you and there’s really not enough room—“ She pauses for a moment. A large smile slowly stretches her mouth wide and her big brown eyes sparkle with both amusement and affection at them. “—and congratulations boys, you really do make a cute couple.”

 

Snickering, she walks out of the cubicle and pulls the curtain across behind her giving them some privacy. John looks to Derek and is pretty sure his face is just as flushed with embarrassment as the other man’s is, which is fair enough he supposes, he did tease Melissa a little bit when she first started going out with Jordan.

 

He’s relieved that she’s so accepting of it though, not only the age difference, but the whole gay mid-life crisis thing-which he knows in his heart it isn’t that. He could have a hundred, a thousand or more attractive young men in his Department, with friendlier attitudes and not the baggage that Derek carries and none of them would be his equal. None of them he would want like he needs and wants Derek.

 

Derek lowers the half-rail on the bed and shifts the chair closer so they can see and touch each other more easily. Once settled he takes hold of John’s hand and raises it to his mouth, kissing and nipping the knuckles marked with old scars, before turning it over and pressing a heated open-mouthed kiss to the middle of John’s palm.

 

John hisses sharply as soft lips scorch over his skin and green hued knowing eyes turn up to his, watching him so intently through a fringe of long dark lashes that it sets his blood to burning, pumping hard and fast through his veins. With his free hand he runs trembling fingers through Derek’s hair, gently carding through the soft strands with a rhythm that has the younger man’s eyes becoming dark and heavy-lidded as they watch him unwaveringly.

 

“I thought I’d lost you.” Derek says against the flesh of his hand, slightly muffling his words. He lifts his head up and his face is anguished and John’s pretty sure he’s reliving the last couple of hours. Cupping his strong jawline tenderly, John can only stare at him, drinking in his beautiful face, amazed and grateful that for whatever reason it may be, Derek seems to be as infatuated with him as he is with the wolf.

 

“I’m sorry.” He whispers hoarsely, never wanting to be the cause of one moment of additional pain for this young man who’s had more than enough in his short years.

 

Derek stares at him so intently that John feels like he’s falling into those swirling pools of green, gold and brown. “I need you to know John, if you’d…and I hadn’t told you I would regret it forever. I know that you don’t feel the same, but—“

 

His heart is thundering in his chest and he can’t believe what he’s hearing, he must be dreaming, but if he is, he never wants to wake up. John presses his fingertips over Derek’s mouth to stop the flow of words, hating that the other man is looking at him so fearfully when he does, but he needs there to be no doubt in Derek’s mind as to what John’s intentions are. Because he has the feeling if he lets Derek keep going, at some point down the track if he has a bad day, when his self-worth is hitting rock-bottom, he’s going to think that John was affected by the ‘bump to his head’ or merely felt obliged to reciprocate and that is so far from the truth it’s not even in the same postcode of reality.

 

“You really are the bravest man I know.” He says fondly. They’ve danced around it, mentioned feelings and attraction, but nothing specific and the man in front of him was going to confess to possessing feelings that he didn’t think John returned in the same way. He watches the bewilderment quirk Derek’s dark expressive eyebrows upwards, colour blooming on his cheeks, red and hot, he can feel the heat through his fingertips where they’re still pressed to his lips.

 

“Not feel the same? You really don’t get it do you?” He can see Derek’s eyes are still wide with apprehension and curses himself for not being able to give the younger man the words he needs.

 

“Damn it, I’m not good at this. Not at all.” John swallows with difficulty, his throat tight and his belly flipping crazily as he confesses. “Derek Hale, I am so gone on you. I am head over heels, stars in my eyes, heart on my sleeve gone on you.”

 

There’s a puff of hot, moist air against his fingers as Derek exhales heavily in shock. John shimmies down the bed and leans closer, ignoring the throb in his head, needing to impress on the younger man the truth in what he’s saying.

 

“When I started wishing you and I could be rostered together every day, I didn’t know what to think. When I started wishing no one else would come in to work except us, that was when I realised I was really in deep. That I’d fallen in love with you.”

 

Derek looks stunned, his eyes unfocused, head slightly tilted like he’s listening to something out of John’s hearing range. He almost starts to wonder if maybe he’d misread entirely what Derek had been about to say, when he can feel the lips under his fingers start to move, to curve upwards, and Derek’s smiling. John lets his fingers delicately trace over the younger man’s mouth and feels his heart threaten to beat right out of his chest at how bright and wide it is.

 

“You mean it, you really do. You love me.” Derek’s lips brush against John’s fingertips, the words spilling warmly over his skin like a physical touch. There’s an almost child-like wonder in the way Derek looks at him then, in a way he’s never seen before, he’s glowing with an internal radiance that’s dazzling. It strikes John then almost painfully, skewers him through his heart and his consciousness, that it’s because he’s never ever seen Derek truly happy before and he makes a silent vow, then and there, that he will see that light shine out of his beautiful eyes as often as he possibly can.

 

John nods his head. “I know I’ve ballsed this whole thing up, but I never ever thought you could feel the same. A young man with his whole life in front of him tying himself to a cranky widower who’s closer to 50 than 40, with a grown-up son. I’m so much older than you, it just didn’t seem possible.”

 

Derek’s eyes go big and round, he blinks owlishly almost in disbelief at John before shaking his head so frantically that John’s fingers fall away to land on his chest. “It’s possible, it’s so very possible.” He insists.

 

Derek’s trembling, quivers running through his body like he’s being constantly jolted with electricity. Eyes glowing wolf blue he pants heavily, his broad chest rising and falling rapidly, as he’s seemingly on the edge of shifting completely, his control at it’s very limit. John strokes his hand over the younger man’s chest before sliding it up over his throat, feeling the frantic thrum of his pulse against his palm, the vibrant life force barely contained within Derek’s powerful body, to cup his jaw.

 

The way his bones move under his hand, a grating ripple, is the strangest thing John’s ever felt. Derek’s fangs emerging and retracting as the wolf struggles to rise and completely shift, he lets his thumb rub gently over his chin up to Derek’s full lower lip and tugs it down exposing his white teeth. Pushing his thumb in he runs the pad of it over the sharp edges of teeth and fangs. Derek freezes and a low pitched whine escapes his parted lips in surprise.

 

He’s not quivering anymore, but there’s a taut alertness to his body, a dark hunger in his pupil blown eyes that has John’s heart thumping instinctively as he recognises the suddenly predatory nature of Derek’s regard. John feels something hot and wet flicker over the tip of his thumb, Derek’s tongue he realises, leaving him breathless and squirming as his ball sack draws up tight in preparation, even though he’s not up for anything physical right at the moment. He inwardly curses the poor timing of it all.

 

Leaning forward John looks into Derek’s eyes, holding his gaze and lets everything he feels for his boy show on his face as he lets his lips hover over the other man’s, a breath away from kissing him. On the very next exhale, their mouths touch in a kiss with such tremulous sweet promise that if he believed in that sort of thing, he would say it made his soul ache.

 

For some reason he can’t define, the atmosphere slowly changes as he draws his head back, lips tingling, it’s no longer charged with sex and need, it’s gentle and soothing in the simple companionship of being together. Just as well, with a lump the size of an egg at the back of his head and the crease track along his temple where the bullet grazed him, he wants to take his time and savour every touch, every kiss. John lays fully on his side, head propped up by a pillow which being standard hospital issue is harder than a brick, and Derek rests his chin on the forearm he has draped over the mattress. He mentally snorts at the idea that the position allows them to stare into each other’s eyes like love struck teenagers, but he can’t deny that he likes this closeness.

 

Being around Derek, loving him, it feels like the other man has smoothed over some of John’s harsher, more jagged edges simply with his presence. He’s brought out a softer side, a more patient one in John that he remembers feeling with Claudia, like he needed to be someone better for them. To his shame he hadn’t been strong enough to be that better man that Claudia needed as her life came to a prolonged painful, bitter end, but he wants to try for Derek, needs to.

 

The silence wraps around them and it’s not uncomfortable or strained like it has been in recent times and John wishes he could stay in this moment forever, holding the hand of the man he loves and looking into each other’s eyes silently promising nothing more than to try and be the best they can for themselves and each other. It’s perfect.

 

He was wrong. It only becomes truly perfect when Derek says, with a simple truthful certainty that thrills John to the very core. “Love you too.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's recovering from his injuries and Derek's equally determined to take care of him and find out what happened with the car thieves. Does an unexpected visitor threaten their relationship when it's barely begun?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'ed.

Many hours later, after a long wait at the hospital to be discharged, John sighs replete and content, comfortably settled on **_his_** couch in **_his_** lounge room. A distant throbbing lurks at the back of his head as the painkillers really start to kick in and his belly is pleasantly full with the delicious soup that Derek had whipped up with ruthless efficiency in his kitchen. It was green, a rich vibrant shade, and after considering it for a few minutes and deciding that Derek probably wasn’t trying to poison him, he’d hesitantly swallowed a spoonful. Broccoli, bacon and parmesan, who’d have thought green soup would taste so good.

 

Derek’s resultant smirk and triumphant ‘told you you’d like it’ when he’d asked for a second bowl had made him roll his eyes even as a sweet warmth spreads through him to witness the younger man’s snarky almost-back-to-normal reaction.

 

The most important question though was how in the hell did he have broccoli in the house in the first place?

 

With his legs stretched out and pillows packed behind him, he mutes the game on the flat screen for the moment, as Derek hovers over him with an armful of blankets like he’s got hypothermia rather than a bump on the head. It’s an improvement he supposes, from someone who’s never been sick or injured beyond what his own werewolf nature can heal almost instantly, at least he’s stopped trying to carry him everywhere. It’s sweet and he loves the fuss and attention equally as much as it’s a little bit weird and there’s no way he’s going to be smothered literally and figuratively to satisfy his wolf’s need to provide and protect. Nuh uh, no way, no matter how much Derek’s nostrils flare in annoyance.

 

Five minutes later, after Derek finishes tucking the single blanket around him that they’d negotiated down to, he sits on the edge of the couch, one hand on John’s thigh. The warm weight of it penetrates the blanket and the sweatpants he’s wearing and it kinda makes him feel a little bit squirmy inside, like he wishes it was resting slightly higher up his leg, but he’s not up for more, much as he wishes differently, so he simply rests his hand on top of Derek’s, letting his thumb brush idly back and forth over the younger man’s knuckles.

 

Derek’s eyes are dazed for a moment as he looks down at their joined hands before he seems to visibly shake himself free from whatever thoughts are distracting him. The haze clears and an all too familiar look of focused concentration appears which John recognises from being on the job with the younger man. It’s a strange and unsettling feeling to have that professional regard turned upon himself, so it’s not a total surprise when Derek asks “What happened?”

 

John doesn’t even consider pretending not to know what Derek’s talking about. If the situation had been reversed there’s no way in hell John would’ve let it go until he knew every detail and decided who was going to be punished. Severely.

 

“We found them. They didn’t want to go to jail and started shooting. We shot back. They lost, we won and I bumped my head, end of story.” John spits it out as succinctly as he can, because as much as he recognises Derek’s need to understand there’s a more compelling urge to protect the younger man as much as himself from rehashing such a close call. The painkillers he’s taken have helped a lot, but every now and then, if he moves his head a certain way, he can feel the sting of where the bullet traced across his skull. An inch over and he wouldn’t be here now. Would never have tried green soup or be fussed and cosseted over by a gorgeous 28 year old werewolf who he’s crazy for and who apparently is crazy for him too. Would never have seen his son again or the rest of his pack family. It doesn’t bear thinking about, all the things he could’ve lost this afternoon.

 

“John.” The hard demanding edge to Derek’s normally soft voice is startling in contrast and sends a little frisson of excitement coiling through John’s belly. The slight squeeze of his hand on John’s leg is insistent as he asks again. “What happened?”

 

John tips his head back against the pillow and exhales heavily. Derek’s not going to let this go, he just knows it, the man’s as stubborn as he is gorgeous. Thinking back to this afternoon, the gunshot rings loud and clear in his head, over and over.

 

“It was the first truck stop we went to. The one on Hillsgate and Erindale.” Derek nods his head in recognition.

 

“We’d only just got there, started asking around if they’d noticed anyone new, any rigs they didn’t recognise. A couple of drivers pointed one out to us with a two man crew who kept to themselves. Nothing flash about the truck, pretty standard really, nothing that any one of us would look twice at out on the road.” It had been an older white Mack with blue contour stripes, the silver radiator grill polished and shining at the end of the prominent hood. He can see it so clearly in his mind, so vividly, remembers seeing his own distorted reflection in the grill as he’d walked past.

 

“We caught them by surprise, said they were just about ready to haul out. Real friendly, real co-operative. Even showed us some manifests, but my gut was kicking up a storm. Too friendly, too co-operative for guys on a tight schedule. So Jordan kept them busy while I checked it out.” He’d walked around the rig and everything had looked legit with the attached long white trailer until he’d seen behind it.

 

“There were marks in the gravel. Tyre tracks and deep gouging grooves, about the right distance and angle from the back of the trailer for a ramp to go down and I knew we had them. I managed to signal Jordan and pull my gun, but before I could call in for back up…” John pauses, staring blindly, the numb feeling of horror when he’d seen those doors swing back sweeping over him again. It had sent him stumbling, but not before he’d glimpsed a matt black hand gun held by a third man, the muzzle flash had been blinding, the sound of it discharging had been deafening. It’s not the first time he’s been close to death, but it somehow hits him harder than any other time. Chills race through him and he shudders, almost wishes he’d let Derek settle a second blanket over him. Lifting his eyes from where their hands are now gripping each other’s tightly he can see the tension in Derek’s body as he listens.

 

“We didn’t know there was a third man. The rear door caught me on the shoulder…sent me flying. Lucky you know ‘cause it sent me off balance, so he missed, but not before I got a couple of shots off before I went down.” John waves his free hand towards the bandage wrapped around his head. “Next thing I know I’m waking up on the ground, out of the entire lot my skull found one of the bricks they’d been using to chock the ramp. Jordan had cuffed the two up front to the rig and the third guy…”

 

John hesitates. Seeing the man lying there on the floor of the trailer, struggling to breathe from the sucking chest wound one of John’s bullets had inflicted, he’d felt nothing but relief. No guilt or regret, simply glad that out of the two of them it was the other man down because he had so much to live for.

 

“He was going to kill me, I don’t doubt it for a moment. The split second he saw my tac vest he was aiming at my head.” His heart speeds up, wondering if Derek understands what he’s capable of. What he’ll do to survive? What he’ll do to protect his own? Claudia had always said that she did, that she wanted him to be able to talk to her about his job, to tell her things, but there were times when she’d be quiet, a little bit withdrawn for days after and he would always wonder if she ever truly did want to know, if she ever really understood. “I shot him and I didn’t hesitate because after he was done with me he would’ve gone for Jordan and no one messes with my deputies.”

 

Derek rumbles, his eyes blazing furiously with the cold blue found in the heart of a burning flame. “I hope he lives so I can kill him.”

 

Relief wells within John, he can tell the wolf approves of his actions in the way he leans down and nuzzles their faces together, snuffling his scent appreciatively. Derek licks a stripe of wet heat over John’s chin before nipping it, the pressure of his very white, slightly sharper teeth against his flesh is a sensual torment as he leaves a trail of biting marks along his jawline towards the seeming goal of his ear lobe which he lightly nibbles upon. John can’t contain it, he moans low and guttural his approval at Derek’s onslaught. Can feel his dick twitch in appreciation.

 

Slowly Derek draws back. He’s not fully shifted, but it’s close, the glowing eyes, the broader nose and the hint of fang behind red lips all signs of Derek’s loss of control.

 

“A good Alpha always protects the pack. Protects their mate and their pups.” Derek slurs the words slightly, his fangs bulging behind his lips. John can only stare at him, uncertain of what he means.

 

“Scott’s a good Alpha.”

 

“Yes, but not **_my_** Alpha.” John’s frozen in shock as he stares at him, he’d always thought that Derek had accepted Scott, they’d been so close of late. Derek’s human face shifts back into place before his eyes, a rolling wave of bone shifting and hair receding, it’s disorienting and John struggles to focus until it’s over. Derek shakes his head and explains. “I’m Scott’s right hand, his second, like Stiles is his left, his emissary, his negotiator and sometimes enforcer. Yes, Scott’s my pack Alpha, but you’re my Alpha mate.”

 

It’s not a term he’s heard before and he puzzles it over. Mouths the words silently, testing, letting teeth and tongue feel them before he even dare say them aloud and give them meaning.

 

Alpha mate.

 

Only words, yet when he looks at the man before him they feel so incredibly right.

 

“But, I’m not a werewolf.” Is all he can think of to say.

 

“You don’t have to be for my wolf to recognise you as worthy of respect…of obedience.” John shifts restlessly, the longing look that Derek’s giving him and what he’s revealing is mind blowing as well as kinda hot. Unless…a disturbing thought crosses his mind, that maybe Derek had misinterpreted what John was saying when he called him ‘my boy’. From what he’d seen, the bonds between a pack Alpha and the pack Betas was a mix of almost paternal and protective instincts on Scott’s part. Were Alpha mates similarly inclined? Yes, what he felt for Derek was very protective of him, but it wasn’t fatherly in the slightest. It was possessive, it was staking a claim and he didn’t care how damn politically incorrect it sounded, Derek is his.

 

“It’s not some sort of code for a ‘daddy’ thing is it? Because I don’t—“ John begins only to be interrupted by Derek’s laughter which is surprisingly rich and warm, like it’s been pulled from deep in his belly. Blinking rapidly, it’s startling to hear how light and free he sounds after only moments ago seeming to be on the edge of wolfing out and taking the law into his own claws.

 

“No. I may have issues, but that is definitely not one of them. Besides my first Alpha was my Mom and I’m definitely not looking to find a replacement for my parents. What I need…what I want is a mate.” Derek shifts, moving so quickly from sitting beside him that John’s slightly dazed, his eyes unable to follow his inhuman speed.

 

Derek’s straddling his lap, his tight ass planted right on top of John’s cock making him huff out a shaky breath as pleasure sweeps over him. The rush of blood flowing into his dick, plumps it out, until he’s half-hard and he’s damn tempted to just let go and not think at all, to simply feel and react to all the wild impulses that this heady physical and emotional attraction for this man sparks within him. He can’t though, this is too important to Derek, he can feel it in the coiled tension of the other man’s body.

 

“A mate?” John manages to gasp out.

 

“I need a strong mate. A protective and loving mate.” Derek’s watching him closely from under the dark fan of his eyelashes as he says slowly, almost apprehensively. “A dominant mate.”

 

Flash fire scorches instantly through John’s veins as heat pools low in his groin, leaving him rock hard, heavy and aching with need. If Derek’s saying what he thinks he is…God damn…God damn…he wants to flip him and fuck him right now, be the mate he’s asking for. Be his Alpha. The things he wants to do to the younger man burn through his brain quickly followed by what he wants Derek to do to him. It’s too much and all he can do is reach up and drag his head level to his own and kiss him. Kiss him long and hard and so thoroughly that they’re both left red-faced, panting and gasping for breath when they eventually draw apart.

 

“God…we shouldn’t be doing this.” John rasps, wondering if he has the strength to delay what seems so inevitable. Delay it until Derek can finally start his therapy with Marin, without any distractions. Distractions like hot sex. He barely stifles a moan as his cock pulses violently it's disagreement.

 

Derek’s nodding his head up and down vigorously. “Yes. Yes we should.” He holds still for one long moment, eyes haunted, voice sounding suddenly brittle. “I almost lost you today.”

 

It’s a sucker punch to the chest and he can’t breathe when faced with the agony so visibly on display that Derek’s endured over the past day. There’s nothing more to say. John can’t deny that this is what he wants, to be as close as possible to the man he loves in every way.

 

“Yes we should.” John agrees, echoing Derek’s words and a rumble vibrates through his broad chest in triumph.

 

He can’t look away from that stunning face that keeps him awake at night and if he does manage to fall asleep it haunts his dreams. John lets his gaze drift over his features, those amazing eyes that are blurring softly with rapidly expanding pupils, the straight blade of a nose, the nostrils flaring wildly with every heave of his broad chest or the kiss slick lips that shine red and lush with a swipe of his pink tongue. It takes him a moment to realise that Derek’s checking him out just as intently and the pride he feels at such obvious pleasure and approval on the other man’s face is so satisfying he’s not sure if he can stop himself from puffing out his chest and beating on it like a caveman. He wants to say so much, to say thank you for choosing me, thank you for loving me…thank you for being you, but it feels like his tongue is an unwieldy, useless thing in his mouth and he can only hope that his face is conveying everything he can’t seem to say.

 

Maybe it does. Derek tilts his head almost in acknowledgement, in acceptance, before he places his hands over the top of John’s and starts to guide him, sliding them down the length of Derek’s jaw, the wolf turning his head slightly to nuzzle and nip at John’s fingertips, before they trace over the strong column of his neck. The t-shirt Derek wears is blue and faded from many washings, it’s the oldest one in John’s wardrobe and he half suspects that’s the reason the wolf chose it when he invited him to borrow some of his clothes after showering, purely for his scent embedded in the thin cotton, possibly the only thing keeping it in one piece. The neckline is out of shape and gaping, allowing Derek to dip John’s hand beneath the worn cotton and feel the warm flesh, stroking over the tops of the younger man’s pecs, he curls his fingers slightly letting them tangle with the fine silky spray of dark chest hair before slowly dragging his nails lightly over the smooth pale contour of muscle. It draws a heated rumble from deep with Derek’s chest. The pink barely there scratch marks heal almost instantly.

 

The vibration of Derek’s growl travels through John’s hands and groin. The quivering tremor of it converging to a point deep inside him, the raw power of it a dim reflection of all that’s contained within the younger man. It sets John alight at the knowledge that for all that power and strength, Derek recognises him as his mate, recognises him as the one to protect him, to love him. He needs to see him, needs to see all of him right now. Hooking his fingers into the thin cotton t-shirt, he tears at it, claws at it, pulling and tugging until it’s completely torn away and Derek is revealed.

 

For one breathless moment, John’s stunned as he stares mutely at the man in his lap. The man who’s half-naked and currently rolling his hips in an age-old rhythm, writhing and grinding on his swollen dick and aching nuts with such scorching, dark-eyed enthusiasm that he questions his own sanity. How the fuck has he been able to resist taking more than hungry kisses from this vision over the past couple of weeks? When he can breathe again, a single word passes his lips, a mere whisper.

 

“Beautiful.” Instantly, he wishes he could take it back, because it’s flawed, too weak a word to describe what’s before him.

 

Every muscle is perfectly sculpted, every plane and ridge surely formed by the hand of a master artisan, the expanse of skin is flawless in texture and complexion and he can’t even think of where to begin, where to touch or taste first. The nipples maybe, twin discs of pale pink topped with taut nubs are perfectly aligned and positively mouth-watering, he’s pretty sure they could be stiffer if tweaked in just the right way. Possibly, the flat navel where the belly button dips inward creating a little shadowy hollow the depth of his thumbnail, but he would need to explore that further, maybe with his tongue to be certain or then there’s the cradle of his pelvis that’s fascinated him from first sight, the taut combination of bone, ligament and muscle forming a curving line from hip to hip that he needs to trace over with his mouth and fingers, the desperation of that need bordering on frenzied.

 

“Touch me John…touch me.” Derek begs hoarsely and John can’t move, his heart thundering in his chest with excitement. Dear God, it would be just his luck to have a fucking heart attack and he barely manages to choke back a slightly hysterical, very unmanly giggle at the thought of Stiles’ expression if the coroner was to tell him his father had passed away ‘in the saddle’.

 

All amusement disappears when Derek takes hold of his hands again. Hunching over, Derek pushes his face into the cup of them and breathes deeply, in and out, in and out, scenting him, before he places them palms flat, fingers splayed wide on his chest and covers them with his own. John can feel the violent tremors running through the younger man’s body, as Derek starts to rub them all over his torso, up and down, rosy nubs burning a line of fire across his palms drawing out a scalding hiss of pleasure that John’s not entirely sure who exactly made the sound. Across Derek’s broad chest and ribcage he's guided, before plunging down to his pelvis leading to the silky smooth skin of his abs, the trail of fine hair running from belly button to below the waistband of the borrowed grey sweatpants he wears. Electricity crackles from his fingertips as they dip below the waistband and ruffle through the crinkle of hair, a darker, coarser weave and it pulls a deep groan from Derek that’s so gut-wrenching John loses control.

 

Grabbing hold of Derek’s hips tight, he holds him firmly in place. The weight of him on his straining erection compelling John to instinctively arch his back, head and shoulders anchored by the arm of the couch, heels digging hard into the couch cushion and he rolls his own hips up. His body a taut, shuddering bridge searching for, demanding, the sweet, sweet pressure against the ache of his cock. Eyelids fluttering closed, the pleasure vanishes in an instant, the bubble bursting shockingly, pain flaring in the back of his head with sharp, jagged throbs from where it rests against the pillows and he curses the painkillers for being effective enough for him to forget his injuries, but not enough for him to have hard and fast sex on his couch with the man he loves.

 

“John…John.”

 

Panting through the pain, John manages to open one eye at the frantic call of his name. Trying to smile ruefully, he’s pretty sure that he’s screwed that up with the way Derek’s eyes are wild and panicked. Reaching up, he runs his fingers through the soft fall of Derek’s hair across his forehead, pushing it away from hanging in his eyes.

 

“I’m taking you back to the hospital.” John drops his hands back to Derek’s hips and holds him there as the younger man tries to climb off him. “Stop it John, you’re in pain.”

 

Wincing, John shakes his head. “I’m not going back. I’m pretty sure Melissa would’ve included ‘no hot sex on the couch’ as part of her spiel if she’d known I was dumb enough and horny enough to try.” Derek looks doubtful, worry still etched into the grooves either side of his mouth.

 

“Seriously, I’m fine. Just obviously not up to…” He trails off and waves a hand between them. “Which is damn annoying, when I can see that.” All of their movements has caused the purple tip of Derek’s dick to poke out of the top of his sweatpants. The slit glistens moistly from where it peeks out of the folds of foreskin and John’s mouth waters at the thought of sucking on it, of tasting the other man in the most intimate of ways. The thought of getting into a rhythm and letting Derek fuck his mouth though, sets the lump on the back of his head to practically pulsing out a painfully insistent message of ‘not happening’. So while his heart and mind are definitely on board, his body, going by the way his cock is still soft with the hottest guy on the planet currently sitting on it, is definitely not.

 

Derek’s whole body blushes furiously, the colour rising from his midriff to creep slowly up and over his pecs and shoulders leaving his nipples taut and ruddy, he quickly moves to tuck his cock away and instinctively John grabs his hand.

 

“No. Let me see it.” Is out of his mouth before he realises what he’s said.

 

“What?”

 

“Let me see your cock.” John looks up into Derek’s confused expression. “Just because I can’t doesn’t mean that you can’t either. I want to see Derek. Your Alpha Mate wants to see you. All of you.”

 

Derek gasps harshly, the tips of his ears visibly flushing deep red and his lips part, slack with arousal. John thinks it’s more to do with referring to himself as Derek’s mate than in the overtly sexual request he’d made.

 

John reaches out with one hand and runs his finger along the edge of Derek’s waistband, lightly tracing intricate patterns over the sensitive skin. Derek jerks as he brushes over the purple tip of his cock, John can feel the hot fluid smear wetly over his finger.

 

“I want to watch.” John says softly, before putting his finger into his mouth and sucking off the drop of pre-come he’d gathered. It’s no more salty than any other he’s tasted, but the sweet aftertaste is a surprise, not the usual bitterness he’s been used to in the past. “Delicious.”

 

Derek whines, high and drawn out. His face wrecked, as he follows the movement closely, his body curling into itself as his abs flex and ripple convulsively, cock twitching beneath the soft cotton fabric of his sweatpants.

 

“John.” He groans, sounding like he can’t be sure if it’s torture or heaven to witness him tasting something so intimately.

 

“Be my good boy. Show me how you touch yourself.” The full-body shiver that Derek makes at his words, fills John with wonder. That he can affect this man so strongly, so powerfully is an aphrodisiac in itself. His dick twitches valiantly trying to rise to the occasion, but the lingering ache from his sorely wounded head counters it painfully. Even so, the pleasure he gets just from watching the younger man, watching him writhe and grind against him, out of control is intoxicating. The rush of it is beyond words.

 

Derek yanks at his sweatpants, hands visibly shaking, his cock thrusting out violently as it’s freed. John can’t remember seeing a cock so appealing, so touchable, so lickable. It’s a good size, nowhere as thick as John’s, not that he’d seen a lot outside of porn that were, but Derek’s got probably an inch or inch and a half in length on him. It’s sleek and muscular, matching the rest of him perfectly as it juts out straining up towards Derek’s belly, the shaft flushed ruddy pink while the head of it, emerging from the soft folds of foreskin, is purple from engorgement. A pearl drop of pre-come forms at the slit and runs down the fat head before sliding over the shaft leaving a glistening trail that John wants to drag his tongue over.

 

Derek’s eyes hold John’s as he grabs himself. Hand closing into a white-knuckled fist around the shaft as he starts to fuck into it, hips snapping out of control, jerky and hard. The long keen that Derek’s making surrounds them, it sounds like his boy is hurting so good, that he’s already close to the edge. John reaches out and places his hand over the top of Derek’s, stopping him. The whimper the younger man makes is agonized as his body shudders and trembles wanting to tip over that edge so badly. John lets him start to move, only removing his hand when Derek starts following his direction, it’s not the brutal action of before, it’s a gentler touch, a smoother glide that’s somehow wickedly more potent.

 

“So beautiful…that’s my good boy…slower, slower…play with the head…that’s it…do you like that…rub the slit…” John watches mesmerized with the way Derek follows his instructions perfectly, the way he looks to him for guidance and approval as he touches himself. He’d never thought of himself as such a talkative lover, but it seems right here, right now with this man he can’t help himself.

 

“Good boy…playing with yourself for me…such a beautiful cock…look at all that pre-come…do you know how bad I want to suck it…” Derek wails, eyes wild and rolling, the thrusts into his fist getting faster and faster.

 

“No, no…slow down…such a good mate…don’t move…that’s it, play with your balls…roll them so you can feel how full they are…so full of come…just for me, no one else…” John praises him, pleased that the younger man tries to obey him even though his flushed trembling body is so obviously crying out for release. He lets him build up to outright fucking his hand again before talking him down once more. The third time he does it, the sound of copious amounts of pre-come slick and squelching in his hand is loud in John’s ears, Derek’s growling out his name desperately, begging to come and he can’t deny him.

 

“John please…please let me come.” Derek’s body is slick and shiny with sweat, lips red and swollen from where he’s bitten them repeatedly, his whole body quivering as John keeps him on a knife edge of pained pleasure. It’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen in his life watching the young man wait for his permission to come and John savours it for one moment before grabbing the hem of his own t-shirt and pushing it up until it’s bunched under his armpits, Derek’s eyes flaring wolf blue as he watches, hips driving harder and harder with hopeful understanding. His violently purple cock head peeking out from between the clasp of his fingers with every thrust, John can see the slit pulsing and he deliberately tips Derek over the edge.

 

“Mark me. Come for your Alpha.” Derek freezes for one heartbeat, staring down at him helplessly before his face twists in such open pleasurable agony, his whole body straining towards him and he’s howling, the primal sound sending shivers throughout John’s body before he feels the splash of hot come on his belly and chest. Derek’s above him, propped up with one arm, grunting with every thick spurt of creamy fluid and there’s a lot of it, so damn much he can feel it running down his sides, fuck it, he’ll just have to flip the couch cushion until he can get it cleaned.

 

The young werewolf collapses on top of him, tucking his head under John’s chin, burying his face in his throat, seemingly uncaring that he’s smooshing all that thick fluid between them. He’s trembling so hard and John wraps his arms around his shoulders, holding him tightly, resting his cheek against Derek’s damp hair and pressing a lingering kiss on his forehead.

 

A wave of contentment gently washes over him. He may not have come and there’s a coiling pressure low in his groin that tells him his body would really like to if it wasn’t hurting so much elsewhere, but the feeling of satisfaction is so powerful, so strong that he strangely doesn’t feel like he’s missed out. Knowing that he’d guided Derek, his mate, to such obvious pleasure through his voice and his words feels curiously just as fulfilling as if he’d come his brains out himself. He doesn’t know whether to be fascinated or disturbed by how much he enjoyed the control that Derek had given him and it was something that the other man had allowed he has no doubt about that. There had been no hiding the adoring, hungry expression on his face or the trust that shone from his eyes.  It's a gift that John vows will never be abused or taken for granted.

 

“Love you baby.” John whispers and another shiver racks through Derek’s body much to John’s delight.

 

Kissing the top of the younger man’s head, he runs a hand over Derek’s back, the sheen of sweat that coats it is cooling his body rapidly and John thinks he should get the younger man into the shower before he’s too chilled, werewolf healing or not, there’s no point in being uncomfortable. Derek nuzzles in closer, hot breath on his skin as he sighs in almost relief. John’s lips twitch. In a moment, yes in a moment, he’ll move, but for right now he wants to enjoy having his boy in his arms, holding him close to his heart. Right where he belongs.

 

 

He’s not quite sure what wakes him, one hand tangled in Derek’s soft dark hair, the other on his broad shoulder. It’s certainly not the young man draped over him like a blanket, who’s been waking him every few hours and asking him a couple of basic questions, like name, date, who the current President is, before letting him go back to sleep. It’s not the flat screen which is still on, the replay from last week’s game showing, the commentary a low hum of background noise.

 

Shifting restlessly, he quickly realises there’s no way he’s moving any time soon with the way Derek’s sprawled all over him as he sleeps. Arms curled tight around him like John’s one great big snuggle pillow. Torso lodged between John’s splayed thighs, his head resting on John’s chest, his ear right over John’s heart. He’s pretty sure that’s deliberate.

 

The slight movement in the opening between the hallway and the lounge room catches his eye, a shadow moving across his line of sight, and he wonders momentarily what his chances of getting to his gun are, knowing that it’s locked away in his gun safe.   Derek stirs, maybe because his heartbeat kicks up, but when he hears a familiar voice, it and Derek settle again which possibly explains why the wolf hadn't woken, because he recognises the unexpected visitor even in his sleep.

 

“Hey Dad.” Stiles stands in the doorway and drops his backpack to the floor. Dark whiskey eyes lock on the two men with razor sharp attention, his uptilted nose twitching as he can obviously smell the heavy scent of sex in the room. “You’re obviously feeling okay.”

 

“Hey kiddo.”

 

Even though he’s not embarrassed by being with Derek, John’s still relieved that he managed to convince Derek that ‘no, he couldn’t leave all that come there’ and that he really needed to shower and wash off his belly. Much as it pissed off his wolf that he was washing away one of his most effective scent markers, the thought of Stiles seeing them in that condition, crusty with it, just didn’t bear thinking about. At least he got Derek to put on another t-shirt, even if he wouldn’t have a shower. This time and when Derek had first slept in his bed, the wolf had made it quite clear with a huffy almost offended growl that their semen was an aphrodisiac to his enhanced senses and he wouldn’t be removing it anytime soon. It sent a prickling wave of heat over John’s body knowing that the other man enjoyed wearing their come on his skin, letting the scent sink deep into his flesh, making him feel almost hypocritical.

 

“I'm taking it that you didn’t get my message I was okay? I did try Lydia as well, but she wasn’t picking up her phone either.” John says, as Derek sits up, blinking sleepily, he can tell the other man’s embarrassed as he keeps his gaze focused on the floor, not daring to meet anyone’s eyes. His fingers automatically stroke over Derek’s arm in comfort and he smiles reassuringly as those gorgeous sleep hazy eyes meet his with something like relief and a tentative smile in return. He’s aware that Stiles is scrutinising every movement between them, lips compressed into a thin line and eyes narrowed searchingly.

 

“Only saw it after I landed, got the first flight out I could. Lydia’s been doing some theory work with some Russian math guy, Boris or Ivan, something like that, who she seems to think can walk on water, but he’s really a douche who likes the sound of his own voice and won’t let the students have their phones in his lectures. She did say to tell you she’ll kick your ass for scaring us.” It’s hard to tell what he’s thinking, but John’s glad he’s here. It had been a close call much as he’d never admit that to his son. He struggles to untangle himself from the blanket and Derek, smiling at his boy when he stands and helps pull him up and before he knows it he’s got his son in his arms hugging him tight. Stiles pulls back, closely examining the bandage around his head, before hugging him again.

 

“Scared me, Dad.” Stiles whispers into John’s neck.

 

“Scared myself.” He whispers back, so much for not admitting anything about the dangers of his job. “I’m glad you’re here.” Stiles just holds him tighter, making his ribs creak.

 

“Not sure that you really needed me.” Stiles says gruffly, pulling back slightly, his eyes flicking towards Derek.

 

“You’re my son, I’ll always need you.” John can feel the tension in Stiles’ shoulders release slightly. “You should’ve sent me a text, let me know your flight details. I would’ve arranged for someone to pick you up.”

 

“Nah. It’s cool. You would’ve tried to stop me coming and I needed to see you with my own eyes.” As though aware of how revealing he’s just been, Stiles clears his throat forcefully before continuing. “The pups picked me up, they couldn’t stick around…some mid-morning lectures tomorrow…uh today that is. Scott wanted to come up too, but I wouldn’t let him. It was enough that I saw him at the airport. His Professor got him in as an assistant on an op on one of the lion cubs at the zoo first thing in the morning, it’s a pretty big deal. Bowel obstruction.” He screws his nose up in disgust. “But, I’ll take his word on that. He’s relieved you’re okay, but I’d expect a visit on the weekend if I were you.”

 

John nods, grateful that the pups, as everyone called Liam, Mason and Brett, had accompanied Stiles on the drive to Beacon Hills. They were the next best thing as a distraction for his son, their playful bickering and antics wouldn’t have allowed for any brooding or anxiety. Seeing Scott though would’ve helped more than anything. Ever since they first met as little boys, even with undiagnosed ADHD at that time, Scott had seemed to instinctively know how and when to keep Stiles from pushing himself to frenetic extremes and more importantly how to soothe and draw him out of a turbulent, manic episode.

 

“Derek.” Stiles acknowledges the other man when he finally lets go of John and steps back. It’s a little bit cool, enough that John gives Stiles a warning glare and automatically shifts slightly to one side to block his son’s view of his lover. His lover. A little shiver courses through him at that acknowledgement of what Derek is to him. It’s nowhere near enough to describe what the younger man means to him, a shallow, pale descriptor in comparison to the dazzling reality of his feelings. As much as he loves his son, he knows that Stiles has a vicious tongue, there’s no way he’s going to allow Derek to be hurt.  Stiles stiffens and John wonders momentarily what he’s reading from his expression when what almost looks like grief flickers briefly across his son’s face.

 

“Stiles.” Derek replies and it’s wrong the way he sounds, so quiet and subdued, the way he’s so hesitant around Stiles, not how John’s used to hearing these two when they’re together. Usually there’s snark and good-natured teasing, but this just isn’t right. Maybe Stiles recognises it too, before John can even say anything Stiles sighs heavily and reaches out with one arm and hauls Derek into a hug.

 

“Come here big guy.” Stiles says and John puffs out a small sigh of relief that he sounds almost normal. Derek practically falls into his arms, whining in relief and nuzzles his chin and cheeks. Stiles pats him on the back affectionately, accepting the scent marking without complaint he’s so used to it.

 

Stiles looks into John’s eyes over Derek’s shoulder and says with a prominent smirk “We need to have a talk.”

 

Little brat. He’d always sworn that someday John’s favourite catchphrase prior to a discussion of Stiles’ latest misdeeds and subsequent punishment as a teenager would come back and bite him on the ass.

 

Looks like today’s the day.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles lets his feelings be known about the relationship between Derek and his Dad. Will Derek lose one or both Stilinski men from his life?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'ed.

Derek sits on the steps leading from the Stilinski’s back porch down to the grassy yard. Leaning against one of the timber support posts he tilts his head back so he can look up into the night sky. Dark and endless, the sliver of a quarter moon travels its path in a high arc. The white vapour of his breath a starkly visible contrast as the tendrils stretch and uncurl out towards the stars.

 

Thumping his head back against the wooden post, the dull thud is satisfying both as a sound and a distracting vibration within his skull, so he does it again.

 

Yep, still satisfying. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

 

It’s only when the post starts to creak warningly that Derek stops. Without the thrumming beat of it in his head, thoughts rush in, refusing to back off and just let him sit there quietly. Thoughts fuelled by doubt and fear, if the voices start he’s got no idea what will happen or what he’ll do. No…no. That’s wrong. He knows what to do, John had told him to go to him no matter what and almost instantly the panic starts to lessen and he can almost think clearly.

 

How can this have blown up in his face so fast? Being with John…God. He closes his eyes. The hot rush of images behind his lids is like an incredible erotic dream come to life. The feel of John’s hands stroking over his flesh, the ridges of calluses from years of holding a gun had electrifyingly brushed over his skin, sensitizing it to a point of such pleasure that one more touch, one more caress would’ve broken him prematurely. He’d never felt so much before, never felt so connected to someone. Someone who seemed to know exactly what he wanted, what he needed, before he even did. The memory of John commanding him to come all over his broad chest and flat belly makes his dick twitch and he has to push it down with his palm to stop a really inappropriately timed hard on. That he could satisfy such polar opposites of Derek’s need to be controlled and his wolf’s need to mark so effortlessly was absolute proof to him that John was indeed his Alpha Mate.

 

Now he’s sitting outside the Stilinski’s home, not really knowing where else to go since Stiles asked to speak to John in private. Derek knew that meant no ‘big wolfy ears’ listening in, because Stiles had drummed it into the pack that if conversations are overheard that are personal they are meant to be tuned out immediately. If he’d stayed inside he’s pretty sure that ‘tuning out’ of that conversation would be next to impossible for him. He’d actually considered going home, much as his wolf disliked the idea of leaving his injured mate, but John obviously knew him too well.

 

“This won’t take too long. You better not disappear on me. I need you here.” The kiss he’d placed on Derek’s lips then had been a gentle mix of warm reassurance and a pointed display to his son that this was serious.

 

Derek wraps his arms tight around his middle as he wonders what father and son are talking about. Regardless of the kiss, Stiles had an awful lot of influence on John and if anyone were to persuade the older man that he and Derek together is not a good idea it would be his son.

 

An anxious whine slips out and he turns his face into the collar of John’s jacket that he’d grabbed off the back of the dining room chair before stepping outside and he inhales deeply. He maybe a werewolf, but that didn’t mean being outdoors in only a pair of sweatpants and t-shirt wasn’t going to get chilly. His bare toes were tingling already. The synthetic fabric smells strongly of John and his wolf yips delightedly, wanting to roll in it, to rub it right in and embed it into his skin.

 

When the back door eventually opens some time later, Derek quickly yanks it back down from where he’d zippered it completely up and pulled it over his head, only exposing his crown to the cool air through the open neck, allowing him to breathe pure unfiltered John in the warm darkness that surrounded him.

 

“Hey, this is Beacon Hills not Sleepy Hollow.” Stiles snickers as he sits down on the same step, his back against the opposite porch post to Derek’s.

 

Derek snorts in a mix of amusement and embarrassment, tugging the jacket back into place, smoothing his hand over the silky material all the time conscious of the nearly foot and a half of space between them. For once Stiles is still, not a flailing hand, jiggling knee or twitching foot in sight and it’s unnerving. Even more unnerving is the way the younger man’s looking at him, eyes narrowed, not meanly though more like Derek’s a puzzle he’s trying to figure out.

 

There’s a little furrow between his eyebrows as he’s thinking, it’s one that Derek recognises as similar if not identical to the one that John gets at times. It’s the weirdest sensation seeing something that he finds so attractive on the older man appear on his son’s face and to feel the recognition, but not the attraction. That’s not to say he doesn’t think Stiles is attractive. Over time, with normal growth from teenager to a young man and a rising self-confidence, Stiles is very much like a pup that’s grown into its oversize paws and finds they fit extremely well. Broad shouldered, slender hipped and a killer smile with that wide mouth, Derek would easily categorize him as ‘hot’. John, however, is so ‘scorching’ that Derek feels he should wear sunglasses around him 24/7, he’s simply that dazzling.

 

“You and I…we’ve not always been friends.” Stiles begins slowly and Derek can feel a piercing ache in his chest, a crack starting to form in his heart and wonders wistfully if this is what the term heartbroken means. If Stiles withdraws his friendship because of Derek’s feelings for his father then he’ll have lost something equally as important to him as what he’s gained. The thing is there wouldn’t be any choice in the matter for him because there’s no way he can turn back now. John is…John is everything to him.

 

“Not like Scott and I.” Stiles continues. “That was instantaneous, planets in alignment cosmic bro-hood right from the start. We fell into it and it was as natural as breathing.” Stiles lifts his hand and taps a couple of fingers over his mouth and chin. The first sign that maybe he’s not as composed as he seems.

 

“In fact if I went back and told my 16 year old self how much I care about you, I wouldn’t believe me in the slightest. But, I do Derek, I care about my Dad and I care about you, you’re my friend. My best friend. It didn’t come easy and we had to earn it—“ Stiles pauses, his vivid features disturbingly still, dark whiskey eyes glazed and distant. Derek’s pretty sure he’s recalling their shared past. The good, the bad and the absolutely horrific. Stiles blinks looking momentarily startled that he’s in the here and now, not wherever his mind had taken him to, but the haze is gone, his eyes clearer. “Boy, did we earn it.”

 

“Stiles please—“ Derek starts, not totally sure what he’s going to say but if there’s some begging that needs to be done he’s ready, but Stiles holds up his hand. One long finger wagging back and forth in front of him.

 

“Let me finish.” Stiles waits until Derek reluctantly nods his head, before dropping his hand back into his lap. “I’m going to tell you the exact same thing I just said to my Dad.”

 

Derek swallows hard. Did Stiles threaten John? Threaten to not see him if they were together, how could he compete with that. The Stilinski duo were so tight-knit and loving that how could he ask John to give up something so integral to his very character, to give up being a father. No…no, he couldn’t do it. He’ll tell Stiles now that he’ll back off. It’s only been a few weeks, they could get over it if they called it quits now. Maybe even still be friends. The piercing pang that shoots through his chest and widens the crack at that thought is almost agonizing.

 

“If you hurt him, I’m going to come back and kick your ass. You’re gonna feel a world of pain, I’ll bitch slap you so hard you’ll have to walk backwards to see where you’re going.” The words are almost amusing, but a shiver courses down Derek’s spine at the bleak death stare that the younger man gives him then, one that harks back to possession by a thousand year old nogitsune. Derek has no doubt of the lengths Stiles would go to, to protect or avenge his father. An uncontrollable snarl of approval ripples from his mouth.

 

Stiles eyes lose the darkness that had overtaken the normally warm and playful brown orbs. He reaches across that gap, across that divide and puts his hand on top of Derek’s, wraps his fingers around tight and squeezes, before saying in a softer tone, almost pleading. “So don’t make me do that. Just love him. Okay. Love him like he loves you.”

 

There’s a split-second where Derek doesn’t understand the words spilling out of Stiles’ mouth. He knows eight languages…eight, damn it and yet it feels like Stiles is talking another one entirely. A strange and incomprehensible one. The rush of endorphins that pulses through his body is so powerful when his brain resets itself and he finally gets it, his body feels energized, and he jumps to his feet, hand still wrapped around Stiles’ almost yanking him off the steps to wrap him in a hug. He’s so happy it hurts.

 

Stiles pats him on the back as he embraces him, grunting before he wheezes out. “Easy sourwolf, puny human here, my ribs are like matchsticks to you wolves.”

 

“Puny, my ass.” Easing his hold slightly, Derek laughs delightedly, earning him a startled look which slips into something Derek would call almost fond on the younger man’s face.

 

“You didn’t think I would understand or approve did you?” Stiles asks, his face suddenly serious. “I only want my Dad to be happy.”

 

Derek drops his hands to his sides. “I know, but I didn’t think you’d understand that I want that for him too.” He feels helpless to do anything but tell him the truth. “I love him, Stiles.”

 

Stiles just looks at him for the longest moment from hooded, thoughtful eyes and it feels to Derek that there’s an unspoken conversation going on between them, an understanding of just how important John Stilinski is to both of them. He has no doubt that Stiles will make him pay if he ever hurts his Dad, in ways that he doesn’t even want to contemplate.

 

Eventually, Stiles nods his head slowly in acceptance, an approval that makes Derek feel a little bit shaky, like the earth had moved under his feet while he wasn’t looking.

 

“You and Dad are the two loneliest people I know. You kinda make sense.”

 

“I’m not lonely when I’m with him.” The sweet curl of Stiles’ lips tells Derek that the other man gets he doesn’t just mean in the literal physical sense. That in every possible way, with John in his life, Derek is no longer alone.

 

“Are you sure you’re okay with this? About your Dad being with another man? I don’t want to lose you as a friend. Your Dad and I…I’m serious about this, about him.” Derek can’t help asking. “There was a moment inside—“ He hesitates not sure how to put it, but the grief that had poured off Stiles for a few seconds had been heartfelt and almost overwhelming, the scent of it…of crisp fresh snow covering hard, frozen earth had made him shiver uncontrollably.

 

The tremulous quiver of the so familiar mouth has him whining in sympathy and he moves in closer to the younger man. Stiles shakes his head and tries to smile again, although Derek can see it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

 

“No it’s all cool. I’ve known Dad’s bi since we had **_the talk_** , he’s never hidden it from me which helped me a lot you know…apple not falling far from the tree and all that.” He waves his hands through the air, fluttering bird-like, gesturing to himself.

 

“Uhm…Dad…he—“ Stiles stops and visibly hauls in a long shaky breath as he pulls his shoulders back and looks Derek in the eyes and manages to grate out. “There was a look on Dad’s face before that I’d only ever seen when he was with…when he was with Mom and that’s when I knew.”

 

Derek’s chest feels achy witnessing Stiles’ obvious pain, but he can’t seem to stop himself from asking in a small voice. “Knew what?”

 

“I knew that it was real. Whatever he feels for you is real. I always told myself that if Dad ever moved on I would be okay with it, more than okay I would be happy for him, but for just that split second it was like losing Mom again and I almost wished…you and he hadn’t—“ Stiles stops and tugs at his hair, long fingers yanking it ferociously as he whispers bitterly. “I’m a bad son.”

 

“Your father hasn’t stopped loving your Mom just because he’s with me. You know that right? There isn’t a finite amount of love in a person’s heart.” Derek grabs his hands and draws the smaller framed man into his embrace, wanting to wrap himself around his pack mate and comfort him from the pain and confusion that he’s feeling. “You’re the best son. The most caring and loving…I wish I’d been more like you. You know…before.”

 

“Really?” Stiles pulls back slightly, puzzlement clear on his face as to where this is going.

 

“Yeah, because I’m pretty sure that Kate would never have even gotten to first base with you, you would’ve pegged her for what she was from the get-go and never put your family second.” Derek says matter-of-factly and right then he knows exactly what he’s going to be talking about at his first appointment with Marin. Just acknowledging his feelings and not suppressing them curiously feels like a release of sorts and he allows himself to feel a little bit hopeful.

 

He doesn’t have time to dwell on it as Stiles’ face crumples and he pushes back into his arms and holds him, holds him so fierce and so tight that Derek starts to think that his own ribs just might be under threat.

 

They stand like that holding each other under the stars until Stiles starts to shiver.

 

“Come on man, I’m freezing my butt off. I need something hot to drink…waddya say to some hot chocolate?” Stiles pats him on the back again and turns to move up the steps.

 

“Sounds good.” Derek follows. “Did you really say that to your Dad? The whole ‘bitchslap’ thing?” Stiles looks over his shoulder one eyebrow quirking in amusement.

 

“Yep.” Stiles pops the ‘p’ as he replies. Derek can feel a rush of warmth at the thought of Stiles caring for him so much that he dares to warn his father of the consequences of hurting him. It makes him so grateful that on one of the worst days of his life, after burying Laura, he’d stumbled across two of the nuttiest, goofiest, bravest and most loyal idiots he’s ever known. He loves them dearly.

 

“You’re so gonna get grounded.” Derek can’t help but snicker, relief almost making him giddy.

 

“As though that’s ever stopped me and College man now, not sure Dad’s willing to enforce it long distance.” Stiles says, pointing a thumb at himself as he walks to the backdoor. “By the way, you know what this means don’t you? You and my Dad together…my best friend and my Dad together.”

 

“No, what?” Derek says hesitantly, unsure of where Stiles is going with this.

 

“Surprisingly not therapy, but as my future step-dad—“ Stiles pushes the backdoor open as Derek starts to splutter and choke in shock. “You alright there? Because I will be **_so_** disappointed if you dishonour my Dad without putting a ring on it after a suitable engagement period. Now as I was saying, as my future step-dad I’m willing to negotiate on the date for the back payments.”

 

“Back payments?” Derek asks in bewilderment, still struggling with the whole marriage and rings thing, closing the door behind him and securing the locks in place.  His heart flutters wildly in his chest when his eyes catch John’s across the kitchen and he wonders if he’s going to feel this way every time they meet again. He hopes so. Derek gives a slight nod to the question that he sees in John’s pale blue eyes, the older man’s tense stance easing. Glancing across at the kitchen clock he calculates back to John’s last dose of painkillers. Picking up the packet of Tylenol off the table he pops out two tablets into his hand before grabbing a glass from the cupboard and filling it with water from the tap.

 

“Uh huh. For my allowance.” Stiles watches him closely as he talks, his observant brown eyes following his movements across the kitchen.

 

“Stiles, leave him alone.” John’s voice is stern, but his face is relaxed and reflects his amusement as he stands at the kitchen counter, pouring hot milk into three mugs of what smells like authentic hot chocolate with a hint of cinnamon, sugar and actual chocolate shavings.

 

“But Dad, it’s important for me to gauge the level of commitment here. I mean Derek is taking on another man’s child. That’s pretty big.” Stiles grabs the cup marked ‘cop’s kid today – criminal mastermind tomorrow’ and slurps loudly, melted chocolate sitting on his upper lip like a moustache.

 

“Commitment.” Derek blurts out, feeling a disturbing mix of amusement and horror at the conversation as he moves to John’s side passing him the Tylenol and glass of water, watching the older man intently as he swallows them down.  Satisfied, Derek picks up the Team Jacob mug John had presented to him one night after dinner with an ornate bow wrapped around it and a distinct glint of amusement in his pale eyes.  The warmth seeps through as he holds it between his hands.

 

Leaning back against the kitchen bench top he feels a burst of pure happiness at the way that John shifts slightly so his right side is perfectly aligned with Derek’s left. Their arms, hips and thighs brushing against each other. The broad grin that sits on Stiles’ face is vaguely disturbing, even more so when he waggles his eyebrows at him in seeming approval, approval of what though Derek isn’t quite sure.

 

John rolls his eyes as he sips from his ‘Toy Story’ Sheriff Woody mug, smacking his lips contentedly. “Stiles, the level of commitment is none of your business. It’s between me and my hot boyfriend.”

 

Stiles’ face pulls into a pained grimace, nose wrinkling like he’s sucked on a lemon. “Eww. Please. We have to make it a condition or a rule, something anyway, that there will be no…no hinky stuff said or going on while the baby of the house is in residence.”

 

“As Tommy Lee Jones once said ‘hinky’ is not a word if it doesn’t have a meaning, Stiles.”

 

“I don’t know, much as I think what Tommy Lee says is gospel, it could be like a mesh of hot and kinky, hinky, because you know…I’m your ‘ ** _hot_** boyfriend’ that you want to do **_kinky_** things with.” Derek offers John, before smiling evilly at Stiles. John wraps an arm around Derek’s shoulders before leaning in and kissing him on the cheek.

 

“That you are babe and yes I do.” He says smugly.

 

Stiles is wide-eyed with horror. “Oh my God. I see it now. It’s actually happening right before my eyes. You two are ganging up on me. It’s like some sorta unholy alliance…get thee behind me Satan.” He cries, flinging his arm out dramatically.

 

Derek snorts into his mug, feeling John’s chest vibrate against his arm with laughter. After such a stressful, terrifying day, he can’t quite believe how happy and light-hearted he feels. It’s amazing, incredible and all because of the man next to him. Stiles winks mischievously at him and the warmth that rushes through him makes him realise that’s not quite right. It’s actually because of the family surrounding him right now that he feels so good, so complete. Tilting his head he rests it upon John’s shoulder content.

 

 

 

John shifts nervously in his seat.

 

Looking around at Marin’s office he can see that there’s no photo frames at all, nothing that is remotely personal or says ‘family’. Nothing that would even indicate that she had a brother. The framed artwork on the walls is all formless swirls of pastel brushstrokes meant to settle restless souls and hurting minds and the little objet d’art pieces that are scattered around on her bookshelves and the corners of her desk draw the eye, nothing outlandish all in perfect taste, but nothing that would give an observer any insight to the woman herself. If she thinks it’s meant to be soothing then she’s seriously mistaken, he’s wound up tighter than a coiled spring and he’s pretty sure that wishing he could pull his gun and use them for target practice to relieve some of that tension would not endear him in the slightest to the woman sitting opposite him.

 

“So, John. I’m glad you were able to come and see me. Derek did reassure you that this is something I like to do, to have an informal chat with those closest to my clients.” Marin tilts her head towards the younger man sitting next to him on the deep plum coloured couch.

 

“Yes.” John feels Derek’s fingers squeeze his hand comfortingly from where it rests jointly on their closely pressed thighs and he lifts his gaze from their tight clasp to his partner’s reassuring eyes. The tension uncoils and he can feel himself relax when he sees the warm emotion kindling deep within them for him. “Yes he did.”

 

“It’s been nearly four months since Derek first came to see me and I think he’s done amazingly well in that short time.” Marin’s smile at them both is well-satisfied. John can’t agree more and he flashes a bright grin at the man next to him, so damn proud of the effort he’s made. It’s not always been smooth. There’s been nightmares and a few arguments along the way, mainly because they’re equally as stubborn about each other’s well-being to the point of almost obsessive, but nothing they couldn’t handle, nothing they couldn’t overcome together.

 

More importantly to John, Derek’s come to him a couple of times after what he called some particularly intense sessions with Marin that had brought out the compulsion to ‘atone’ and together they’d silenced the voices of guilt. Mostly through distraction, once after Derek had called him late at night, John had taken him to the 24 hour gym he belonged to and put him through a punishing session that didn’t allow him to think. Thankfully, because of the late hour no one had been around to see when Derek had broken the punching bag twice. John had installed an extra heavy duty one with multiple reinforced anchor points in his garage for privacy after that.

 

The worst was one night when Derek had hammered on his front door frantically calling his name.

 

**_“John…John…let me in…” John jerks awake from his light doze in front of the flatscreen and is instantly on his feet, pulse racing, eyes darting wildly as he tries to work out what the heck is going on. The only light in the room is from a single lamp and the glow from the tv, the rest is in shadows. The hammering from what he realises is someone at the front door is loud and persistent and if it keeps going he’ll have the neighbours up in arms at the noise at this late hour._ **

****

**_Stumbling out of the lounge room, half-asleep and with Jimmy Fallon’s voice trailing after him, John unlocks the deadbolt and opens the door. Fear crawling through his veins at the panicked, distraught expression on Derek’s face._ **

****

**_“Derek. Are you oka—” He barely begins to ask the question at the sight of his mate when he’s swept up by a hurricane, a force of nature bursting through the door. Derek holds him close, lifting him off his feet and slamming him into the wall. He’s stunned, but not hurt, shaking his head he slides down until his bare feet are touching the floor once more, there’s an insistent tugging pull at his hips as they’re jerked forward._ **

****

**_Looking down he blinks in disbelief and nearly swallows his tongue…God give him strength. Derek’s on his knees in front of him, his hands deftly unbuckling his belt as his tongue sweeps wetly over his lips and no matter how much he tries John can’t stop his cock from jerking violently in reaction to the erotic visual stimulation of their position. Desperately, John tries to grab hold of Derek’s hands, his breath catching in his throat rendering him mute._ **

****

**_Huffing, panting sounds echo loudly in the hallway as John fights to stop Derek from opening his zipper, slapping and pulling at the younger man’s hands and all the time Derek’s begging, his voice cracked and raw. “Please John…please…I need to…Let me…”_ **

****

**_His throat unlocks and John rasps “Stop…not like this.”_ **

****

**_Derek freezes, resting his forehead on John’s hip, the ragged, shuddering noises he’s making sound physically painful. With one hand John combs through the younger man’s soft, thick hair with his fingers – over and over, until his breathing is somewhat less erratic._ **

****

**_John’s dick doesn’t care that it’s not right, that Derek’s damaged, it swells thick and fat beneath his jeans. Gets hard so damn fast he feels light-headed at the mere suggestion of being sucked. Instead, it’s both the easiest and hardest thing he’s ever done in his life, to let his legs fold up beneath him so he’s kneeling face to face with Derek. Holding his hands tight he leans in and presses his lips softly against the younger man’s. Derek whimpers and pushes back hard, tries to prise his lips apart with his tongue, but John keeps it close-lipped, light and chaste. He kisses him with all the love he holds deep inside for this amazing man. Kisses him with a tight rein on the passion and desire for him that’s kept him awake many nights alone in his bed and lets the simple sweetness of being with him keep his kisses soft and gentle until the disconcerting urgency of Derek’s need eases._ **

****

**_“It’s okay.” John soothes, wrapping his arms around Derek’s shoulders, nuzzling into his cheek as he swings his legs around to stretch out in front of him as he leans back against the wall. His mate trembles and crawls into his lap, pressing his face into John’s neck. “You’re such a good boy, coming to me. Letting me help you. I love you so much.”_ **

****

**_The strangled sound of anguish that he hears then is soul-wrenching and John runs his hands up and down Derek’s back, tracing the curve of his spine with gentle, stroking fingers through his leather jacket, feeling the shuddering sobs that rock through the powerful body in his arms. He wonders how long it’s been since Derek was truly able to let go, to let himself become so emotionally vulnerable in front of another person. That it happens to be him is not something he’d considered or even thought possible and John knows he’ll always treasure this moment, heartbreaking though it is to hear and feel the pain that his boy is going through, he’ll treasure it as the very real validation of the trust that’s grown between them._ **

****

**_“My boy. My mate. So good for me.” John whispers affirmations against the silky dark strands that brush against his cheek so softly._ **

****

**_“Sorry.” Derek manages to hiccup out and John can feel his boy’s breath through the now damp cotton of his shirt, hot and moist against his flesh making him shiver._ **

****

**_“You don’t need to—“ John begins, but it only seems to agitate Derek even more as he shakes his head vigorously in denial._ **

****

**_“Yes I do.” Derek lifts his head and the stark fear that stares back at John from the wolf’s puffy bloodshot eyes doesn’t recede even when his healing kicks in, the swelling fading away and they become once more the glittering clear jewels that John could stare into for hours. “I love you and I was going to—“ His face crunches up and he rolls away gagging, hunched over on the floor on hands and knees, dry-retching like his stomach is forcing its way up his throat. Nothing comes up, not even spit._ **

****

**_John’s at his side in an instant and slips his hand under the heavy leather jacket and the dark blue Henley to stroke over the small of Derek’s back. It’s slick with sweat and yet his temperature feels like it’s a lot lower than what it normally is, almost like he’s in shock. John doesn’t stop touching him, doesn’t stop talking to him – telling Derek how much he loves him and how proud he is of him. Derek whines mournfully as he lowers his head like the weight of each word is pushing him further and further down until his forehead is touching the polished timber floor, he rocks it back and forth._ **

****

**_“No, no, no. You don’t understand, I was going to make you—“ Derek sits up abruptly onto his knees. His skin tone is a ghastly shade of grey and John’s half-tempted to haul him up and get him to Deaton’s under lights and siren. Derek whispers so hoarsely that John strains to hear. “I was going to do to you what she did to me.”_ **

****

**_Derek wraps his arms around his body, the look he gives John then is so damn bleak it tears him apart to see it. “How did I not see it? She raped me, John. She raped me and…and I was going to…to you.”_ **

****

**_The sheer horror in his voice and on his face is painful to witness. John moves and his heart squeezes painfully as Derek scuttles back almost fearfully, as though John’s going to strike him. John clenches his teeth and doesn’t hesitate, keeps moving towards the wolf until he’s backed up to the opposite wall with nowhere else to go, it’s a dangerous position to put himself in, but he has faith in the younger man. Trusts him unconditionally. Derek’s shaking uncontrollably as John slowly, oh so slowly, draws him close into a loose embrace. Derek tips his head back exposing his throat submissively and John holds his shoulders as he dips his face into the long line of his mate’s neck and rubs his cheeks over the pale skin. Derek whines as John nips at the powerfully corded tendon before latching onto his jaw in a gentle, but firm bite._ **

****

**_Since he’d been seeing Derek in a more intimate way, John had been reading up on some of Stiles’ book recommendations about wolf behaviour. Some of it’s very applicable to werewolves too. So he’s pleased to see the tremors gradually subside in Derek’s body as he feels John’s claim on him, John’s dominance over him and he knows that to Derek’s more primal side the bite is reassurance, it lets him know that he’s safe. That his Alpha Mate has him.  Derek tentatively slides his arms around John’s waist in acceptance and John’s so relieved he hugs the younger man tight, pressing soft kisses to his face and hair. Derek sighs heavily and clutches at him tightly._ **

****

**_“My boy. So sweet, so good.” He tilts Derek’s face so they can see each other’s expression clearly and he’s relieved to see that while there’s some wariness in Derek’s there’s none of the outright fear that he saw earlier which threatened to shatter his heart. “There’s no way you would ever do that. You’re a good man Derek and no matter what, you’ve never hurt anyone. You’ve never hurt me.”_ **

****

**_“Never, John. I’d kill myself first before I hurt you.” Derek fists the front of John’s t-shirt, holding him in place and impressing on him the truth in his vow, face grim._ **

****

**_“Don’t. Don’t say that.” Pain sears through John’s chest at the thought. “I can’t picture a future without you in it, don’t make me…please. Promise me never ever that.”_ **

****

**_Derek nods jerkily, barely audible whines rising from the back of his throat. John presses his mouth to his mate’s desperately and this time when Derek’s tongue pushes insistently at the seam of his lips he opens them, can’t not welcome him into his body when he truly can’t say how long they’ll have together considering their job, age difference and the shitty cards that sometimes get dealt unexpectedly in life. To waste a single moment together seems a crime beyond all reckoning._ **

****

**_Their tongues slide together, vibrating from the guttural groans of hunger drawn from deep within their chests. It’s hot and wet, the pressure hard and grinding as fear overrides pain in the need to be as close as possible, to try and merge themselves into one. John’s heart thunders in his chest, the rapid fire beat of it vibrating through his veins to throb unmercifully at his groin and throat. He’s hard and aching just as much as Derek is, from the way he shifts his hips in little pulsing thrusts against his thigh, letting him feel the hard bulge barely contained by his zipper. Derek jerks his head back, pupils blown, face flushed and breathing hard, it’s such a good look on him John thinks, moaning demandingly as the younger man holds him back, palms flat on his chest when he chases his lips with his own._ **

****

**_“Don’t stop baby—” John growls in frustration, needing more of his boy, needing to taste him in everyway possible._ **

****

**_“Jordan’s just pulled into the drive.” Derek husks out, John barely manages to stifle a range of colourful curses that he’s learned over the years before resting his forehead against the younger man’s and sighs heavily._ **

****

**_“Neighbours probably called it in.”_ **

****

**_“Sorry.” Derek murmurs faintly._ **

****

**_“It’s okay.” John winks at him. “I like it when you’re loud.” He can hear Derek’s breath catch then release in an audible hiss of frustration at his teasing. John gets to his feet and stretches the kinks out of his spine. Looking down he can see something dark and predatory cross the younger man’s face and realises his t-shirt has drawn up exposing his belly, he drops his hand and lets his fingers scratch over it, ruffling through the light coloured hair trailing from his navel to the waistband of his jeans, Derek’s heavy, hooded eyes are fixated, flashing electric blue. A low rumble of approval fills the hallway like approaching thunder and John feels a flicker of satisfaction that his much younger lover can’t seem to drag his eyes away from him._ **

****

**_Derek extends his hand towards John, silently asking to be pulled up. Their hands slot together in a strong, warm grasp, John pulls and before he can even blink, Derek’s right in front of him – practically toe to toe. Their chests brush ever so lightly against each other with every breath and John can’t look away, can’t blink and lose this connection that is as real and as solid as any he’s ever experienced in his life._ **

****

**_“I’m fucked up.” Derek whispers._ **

****

**_“Aren’t we all?” John whispers back._ **

****

**_The rueful smile that tugs at the corners of his mate’s mouth eases the fear for the younger man that John carries._ **

****

**_“I don’t want to atone anymore.” John’s heart clenches almost painfully in relief as Derek’s eyelids flutter nervously, he licks his lips and John finds himself unconsciously mimicking the action. His own feel a little bit dry, a little bit chapped, the cooler weather tends to do that to them. “I think you’re right…it’s hurting me and it’s hurting you.”_ **

****

**_Derek leans into him and lightly brushes his soft, plush lips over John’s before slowly drawing back. “No more.”_ **

****

**_“No more.” John echoes in agreement, squeezing his hand gently, before turning to the open front door where he can hear footsteps coming up the path._ **

****

****

“John, do you understand what I’ve said?” Marin leans forward in her chair, a wrinkle creasing her forehead as she asks him the question again and John blinks rapidly as he drags his mind back to the present, vaguely aware that she’s been talking to him for some time.

 

“I’m sorry, could you say that again.” He asks, embarrassment thickening his tone, making his voice gruffer than normal.

 

Marin nods and sits back. “Of course. In a nutshell, Derek and I’ve spoken about this at length in a couple of our sessions, about your concerns regarding physical intimacy with him.”

 

This time a genuinely warm smile lights up her features and John's startled to realise that she's actually quite pretty. “Your care and restraint have been commendable. Something that I know Derek has greatly appreciated.”

 

He’s not sure what to say to that exactly, he can’t shrug it off, not that he wants to because it’s important to the man beside him and saying ‘your welcome’ for simply being a decent human being just feels a little bit weird. Instead he lifts their clasped hands to his mouth and gently kisses each one of Derek’s knuckles hoping that it says all the things he can’t seem to. Derek tilts his head towards him until their foreheads touch and John can see his lips curl in that sweet little smile of his that makes him want to give him the world, lasso the moon and lay it before his feet even though he knows by the blush that stains the younger man’s cheeks how much he loves and appreciates these little gestures more than anything else.

 

“Derek believes…and I support him, that he would like to increase the depth of intimacy in your relationship. He was fairly certain that your…doubts would remain unless I spoke to you today about it.” There’s an understanding in her eyes that makes his insides squirm uncomfortably. An understanding of exactly how much he wants this and the part of him that is fiercely protective and possessive of his mate wants to rage and storm at her for intruding on something so private, while another part wants to howl and crawl all over the man sitting next to him and devour him whole. “It’s time, John.”

 

John can only stare at her, only aware that he’s actually crushing Derek’s hand when the younger man says his name in a low uncertain voice.

 

Marin’s still talking, her mouth’s moving, but he can’t seem to hear a word she’s saying from the blood rushing through his head, loud and thundering in his ears. He swallows hard and meets Derek’s steady heated gaze. There’s a barely banked fire within those eyes that warms him from head to toe, sweat breaking out across his skin and the permanent dull ache of longing he’s carried deep in his groin for months now flares hot and bright, sharp like a knife.

 

“I think we’re finished here.” John interrupts harshly and Marin has a slightly pissy, pinched look around her mouth, until her glare flicks back and forth between them, obviously picking up on the tension between the two men. God knows John feels like he’s about to snap. A quickly hidden smile cracks the smooth lines of her face.

 

“Yes…for the moment.” She qualifies. “Derek, I’ll see you at our next appointment.”

 

John’s so worked up he doesn’t give the younger man a chance to even say goodbye as he’s rushing him out the door, one hand on Derek’s wrist the other on his hip.

 

It’s time.

 

Thank fucking Christ.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay - this chapter has that one line, that one interaction that kept playing over and over in my head until I was compelled to start writing this fic. 
> 
> Stiles and Derek standing under a night sky as Stiles says "You and Dad are the two loneliest people I know. You kinda make sense."
> 
> It's nothing major, nothing dramatic - but I just liked the truth of it as how I see it, of how lonely John and Derek really are.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Derek are finally coming together - it's passionate and loving and gives them further insight into who they are and what they need and wants as mates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay in posting this chapter, a serious case of writer's block compounded by illness. So here is an extra long chapter of angst, fluff and sexy times.
> 
> Unbeta'ed.

**_‘Go to the loft and wait for me. Don’t stop, I’ll follow you.’_ **

 

Derek can’t stop shaking as he waits.

 

Wired up and jittery, the excited tremors rack through his body with enough force he can hear his teeth click together as he recalls John’s hoarse command in the parking lot of Marin’s office building. The echo of it ringing in his ears.

 

The expression on John’s face before he’d turned away and stalked towards his own vehicle had been so very dark and hungry. Menacing in a primal way that Derek’s hindbrain recognised instantly sending his blood surging, thrilling him to the core rather than frightening him. Standing here in his loft, the memory of the unmistakeable sexual intent to mate and breed threaded in his Alpha mate’s tone and the palpable tension of his body sends Derek’s heart thumping wildly in his chest. Nerves and excitement churn heavily in his belly until he’s not sure if he’s going to pass out or throw up.

 

Wrapping his arms around himself Derek stands at the huge windows of his loft staring almost blindly out at the growing shadows as the sun slowly begins its descent and the blood orange haze of late afternoon casts an almost unearthly light into the large open area of the room behind him. Appropriate, because how can this be real.

 

The anticipation is an itch under his skin, electrical impulses firing neurons and synapses leaving him hungry to be touched, adrenalin and endorphins surging in a chaotic rush, preparing him to be claimed. The door to the loft is open behind him and he can hear the elevator clanking loudly as it rises up the main shaft of the building, but somehow it’s not as loud as the familiar heartbeat that accompanies it.

 

It’s faster than he’s ever heard it before which is crazy when he considers the job they do and he can feel the throb in his chest as his own heart seems to stutter for one moment and imagination or not it feels like somehow they are synched together. His lips want to quirk at the fanciful notion of hearts beating in time, but he can’t seem to bring himself to mock the idea. Like it would actually hurt him in some way if he did.  The closer it gets Derek can feel a change in the atmosphere, an increasing pressure, heavy and weighted that he can feel inside his head, in his skull, like an approaching storm front. The crackling electricity of it has the hair at the nape of his vulnerable neck standing on end. John’s coming.

 

John’s coming for him.

 

He can’t help but recall those intense minutes in the parking lot. His body remembers the almost bruising pressure of John’s grip on his wrist and although there’s no marks on his skin he can still feel the ache of it as much as he can still taste and scent the other man on his tongue and in his nose and he wonders how John found the strength to let him go.

 

 

**_The possessive clamp of John’s hands on Derek’s wrist and hip as he’s hustled out of Dr Morell’s office sends heat firing through his veins, hotter than anything he’s ever felt before, as though his body’s been simmering on a low burn for months as they’d circled each other in an endless orbit. That heat was turned up now, to scorching, the pull stronger than ever and the need to crash his body into the older man’s and feel muscle and bone, sinew and tendon, to merge into one was only held in check by John’s gruff “Don’t move” as he pushes him towards the Camaro and then takes two steps back. A sneaking satisfaction uncurls in his chest when John’s face twists visibly in pained resignation for a micro-second before he shuffles one unsteady step back closer._ **

****

**_“Drive straight to the loft.” John orders in a harsh voice as he starts to turn away._ **

****

**_Derek stills. Frozen with a gradually rising panic. Had he misunderstood. He’d thought…he’d thought…_ **

****

**_“Why?” The word scrapes over his vocal chords, throat tight with every doubt that had ever tormented him over John’s feelings for this, for them._ **

****

**_“I’m going to follow you.” John points to his SUV parked a couple of bays over. They’d driven there separately as it was Derek’s rostered day off, John finishing his shift half an hour early to make the appointment in time and meet the younger man outside Marin’s office before their joint session._ **

****

**_“But…we could…uhh…go together and come back and pick up one of them.” Derek swallows with difficulty, throat tight. “After.” He manages to say, the echo of that one word hanging heavy between them, charging the air thick with sensual promise._ **

****

**_John’s eyes flutter closed as he groans. It’s deep and filled with longing, such longing that Derek sways towards him, pulled and held by John’s gravity as naturally as the Moon to the Earth’s. Derek rests his forehead on the strong chest and inhales deeply. In the parking lot with a steady breeze blowing across the blacktop in the opposite direction Derek had lost John’s scent, but here, right up close, he can breathe him in again. That spicy tang of cloved oranges and dark chocolate with the sharp bite of aged whiskey that he’s come to recognise over the past months as one of arousal. Extreme arousal right now from what his senses are telling him, the clarity and depth of John’s scent washes over him and Derek keeps inhaling deep long breaths, the taste of John’s hunger settling low in his groin sending sparks shooting through his limbs._ **

****

**_Derek nuzzles his nose into the hollow of John’s throat to find the source of that rich, intoxicating scent and the urge to delicately lick the tender skin and taste it straight from the source is impossible to deny. The strangled groan from his mate draws out a deep rumbling growl of pleasure from Derek’s chest. A flush of colour sits high on John’s cheekbones and when his eyes snap open Derek can see his pupils are blown, big and dark, obscuring his irises until there’s only the thinnest ring of pale blue surrounding the black._ **

****

**_John grabs his arms and holds him away, fingers curling deep into his biceps and Derek shudders at the edge of pain mixed with pleasure that the older man’s touch brings. The tenting at the front of John’s uniform trousers visibly pulses and Derek can feel a sympathetic throb through the length of his own hard shaft that’s so powerful he can’t help but whimper at the ache of it._ **

****

**_“Our first time together is not going to be in the back seat of a car.” John growls fiercely. Derek chokes, shaken, eyes wide and mouth dry at the raw honesty he hears in the other man’s voice._ **

****

**_“Because right now-“ John’s thumbs brush over fabric and hard muscle, tracing circles against Derek’s biceps. “- you and I in a car together…that’s where we’d end up, pulled over somewhere on the side of the road or in an alley.” He leans in close and Derek can feel his warm breath against his lips as he rasps dangerously. “I want you too much to be that close and not have you.” John’s mouth crushes his hotly and Derek moans in relief and frustration as he almost instantly pulls back and releases Derek’s arms and steps away fingers curling into tight fists at his sides as though he doesn’t trust himself not to reach out._ **

****

**_It’s a small comfort knowing that John’s wanting so badly. The burning predatory heat of his stare has a whine of appeasement as much as encouragement rising achingly from Derek’s throat._ **

****

**_“Go to the loft and wait for me. Don’t stop, I’ll follow you.”_ **

 

 

The clang of the metal door to the loft shutting snaps him out of his reverie. A shiver snaking down Derek’s spine when he hears footsteps pause briefly at the top of the stairs before descending to the huge open floor space. He doesn’t dare turn around, but every sense is attuned to the man behind him. The familiar heartbeat that’s faster than usual, the scent of arousal that wraps around him, hot and bittersweet coating his tongue and settling deep in his lungs, to the heat he feels from the warm presence at his back. Not touching him, just there, radiating warmth and comfort and mate. His head rolls heavily to the side, a heady sense of intoxication washing over him as he exposes his vulnerable throat. A fluttering sigh of almost relief passing his lips as he sees the reflection of the man standing behind him in the persimmon glow of sunset in the pane of glass before him.

 

“Derek.” John says his name with a hushed reverence that makes his eyes sting. He’s never felt more loved, more valued and esteemed since the passing of his family and it feels like something cracks wide open in his chest. It’s painful and it’s good all at the same time, a realisation of sorts, that John is a good man. A good man who would not accept any less in a mate. He’s not sure he deserves this, not able to judge himself that uncritically, but he can trust John to and that knowledge eases his conscience that he can allow himself this. That he can allow himself John.

 

“John.” Derek watches the other man’s expression in the glass, their eyes meeting and holding and his breath catches at the pleasure that sweeps over John’s face at the sound of his name on Derek’s lips.

 

“Are you going to turn around?” A little smile curves John’s lips as he teases.

 

“I don’t know.” Frighteningly, he really doesn’t know. Panic rises quickly now that the moment is here, swirling nauseatingly in his gut. He watches as John’s mouth goes tense and a little furrow appears between his eyebrows at the bridge of his nose as he struggles to confess. “I…I’m scared.”

 

The sharply sucked in breath and the shattered note in John’s voice when he brokenly asks “Of me?” kills Derek to hear it and he shakes his head violently. No. No.

 

“Never of you…just—“ His hand reaches towards the window as though to tenderly stroke away the hurt he sees in John’s reflection. “I’m afraid that if I turn around you’ll be gone. That this is just a dream.”

 

A corded arm reaches past him and John’s warm hand captures his pressing it palm flat to the cool glass, fingers slotting together as he whispers into Derek’s ear, lips brushing the sensitive rim dragging a shaky hiss out of him. “Not a dream. I’m here. I’ll always be here, as long as you let me.”

 

The weight of John’s other hand settles on his hip, holding him in place as he slowly lets his body rest against Derek’s. Fingers gripping tight, John’s thumb slips underneath the waistband of Derek’s Henley, brushing over his hip in a sweeping arc. A wave of heat rushes over him, not just from his touch. He can feel John everywhere. Broad chest solid and reassuring at his back, heartbeat vibrating steadily against his shoulder blade. Firm thighs locked in tight to the back of his as the solid ridge of John’s erection presses into Derek’s ass.

 

Derek moans. It feels good. So good and yet he wants more, wants everything that John can possibly give him so he tilts his pelvis slightly and reaches back with his free hand, grabs John’s hip fiercely and pulls him in tighter, harder, wanting to feel the grind of their bodies as his ass nestles snugly into the cradle of John’s groin.

 

“Fuck.” John groans as he rolls his hips and his hot breath stirs the hair on the back of Derek’s neck making him quiver at the dual sensations. His cock is throbbing with the powerful beat of his blood as it races through his veins and he can feel a dampness in his boxers, cotton fabric uncomfortably wet and sticky as he leaks pre-come in what feels like volumes.

 

The noise he makes when John brushes his lips over his nape sends a surge of warm heat to his cheeks in embarrassment at the high pitched breathy squeak. Little nips and licks at the sensitive skin make his knees tremble and he’s not sure how much longer he can hold himself up.

 

“John?” Derek doesn’t recognise his voice, it’s so low. He needs and he wants so badly, not even really sure what **_it_** is that he craves.  Not just sex, there's more, so much more and all he knows is that John is the only one who can give it to him.

 

“You feel so good baby.” John tugs at the collar of Derek’s Henley, exposing his vulnerable nape and lets his teeth scrape lightly over the knob of vertebrae at the top of his spine. It feels like a jolt of electricity courses through Derek’s nervous system, sparks lighting him up from the inside. “My boy…my beautiful boy.”

 

The praise undoes him and his limbs go weak, he can feel the tremors shooting through his arms and legs unable to support his weight and he starts to fall, but before he can face plant painfully against the window, John holds him tight. Keeps him safe from harm. Gently pressing his body into the glass with the full weight of his Alpha mate pinning him in place and he can feel him everywhere. From head to toe there doesn’t feel like a place where John’s not touching him.

 

John surges against him, grip tight, hips thrusting powerfully until John curses, spinning him around to kiss him. Derek feels light-headed as John’s lips part his and his tongue plunges into his mouth. Their cocks brush back and forth constrained by their clothing, but it's still a delicious friction that makes them even harder and Derek’s pretty sure he’s never been this erect in his life, so swollen and stiff that he worries something’s going to snap. The thought is swiftly forgotten when he feels John’s hand slide over his hip to greedily cup his ass cheek, fingers gripping and massaging the firm flesh and Derek howls into John’s mouth, letting the other man swallow the sound down as easily as he does Derek’s exploring tongue.

 

John pulls back, rasping out in a voice thick and smoky with sex. “Bed.”

 

Derek can only nod, somewhat in awe that John’s managed to say anything even if it’s only one word, because he feels like he’s lost all power of speech, caught up in the whirlwind of sharing himself with the man he loves. That remembrance of who John is to him hits him with a strength that almost knocks him back on his ass onto the floor and he can’t not let him know that this is more to him than a coming together of bodies.

 

“I love you…love you—“ Derek begins before John makes a strangled, choking noise and kisses him frantically, peppering his lips and jaw and chin with nipping, sucking, biting kisses saying in between each one “Love you, love you so damn much” and it’s true. Derek can hear it and feel it, he’s never felt more powerful, confident and strong than he does right now and he can only hope that John feels that way too. It’s what lets him take both of John’s hands and lead him up the spiral staircase of his loft to the upper level and his bedroom without hesitation.

 

John’s standing in the middle of his bedroom, Derek’s content to lean back against the closed door and watch as John looks around never having been here before.

 

“Looks like you were betting on a sure thing.” John says after a long moment. Derek looks around and sees what John’s seeing, the intimacy he created with such high hopes before he left for his appointment. The room is warm and dark with the blackout curtains pulled closed, broken only by the golden glow from the lamps scattered around the room. Derek’s large bed is covered with clean high-thread count sheets and cotton throws, soft blankets and mounds of pillows forming a nest of sorts. The lube and condoms on the bedside table are sitting on top of clean towels and wipes and it suddenly appears so starkly clear what he wants, his heart seizes in his chest at the thought that John would see this as something as so premeditated as to be uncomfortable with it.

 

“No, no…I hoped, but we don’t have to…not if you don’t want to.” Derek pushes off the door and stumbles to where John is. Biting his lip in frustration, cheeks burning with heat.   “I just wanted it to be…nice for you.” He looks away, not able to meet John’s eyes.

 

John grabs his arm holding him in place, reaching up with his other hand cupping his jaw and drawing it back to look at him. “I was teasing, where you’re concerned **_I am_** a sure thing. This is nice, in fact it’s perfect and I get that it’s where you feel safe. Letting me in here—“ John pauses, expression intense. “I know that it’s a privilege.”

 

He doesn’t know if this is another case of John just being remarkably intuitive or if he’s done some research into wolves seeing as a lot of their behaviours are similar to Weres, either way Derek sighs in relief that he understands.

 

Wanting John to know how much it means to have him here in what is his den, feeling almost shy, Derek says “I don’t let anybody come in here, it’s where I sleep, it’s…it’s private.   I do feel safe here, but I’ve never felt it as much as I do right now.”

 

John smiles wide and happy as he draws him into his arms and they just hold one another tight almost content to simply look at each other. John’s gaze lingers hungrily on his mouth making Derek’s cheeks prickle with heat. The earlier passion isn’t gone, it’s still there humming underneath the surface and Derek feels like he’s caught in the eye of the storm. A momentary respite.

 

“Don’t be embarrassed sweetheart, but I need to know…have you had **_any_** experience with anal play at all?” John asks, dipping his head to keep eye contact as Derek tries to avoid his, feeling a hot blush spreading furiously until his ears feel like they’re on fire.

 

Telling himself to get a grip, Derek shakes his head, wondering if this will make John change his mind. “Only my fingers.” He chokes out.

 

John’s hold gets noticeably tighter and he swallows thickly, adam's apple bobbing rapidly, before he manages to rasp out. “That’s good…I mean that’s okay. We’ll go slow. Okay?”

 

Derek nods, mesmerized by the all too pleased gleam in John’s eyes, the dark flush high on his cheekbones and the flicker of his tongue darting over his lower lip.

 

“Tell me if there’s anything you don’t want. There’s no rush to do everything.” John cups his face with a gentle hand and brushes his thumb over Derek’s cheekbone. “I’m not going anywhere and we’ve got plenty of time.”

 

Derek huffs out a shaky breath, relieved because the inference isn't just about today, he’s talking about all their tomorrows too.  Still he’s apprehensive before he manages to blurt out “I don’t…no oral sex” before ducking his head.

 

John tips his head up with a finger under his chin and Derek’s relieved to see that while John’s expression is as deadly serious as he’s ever seen, it’s not filled with disappointment or recriminations.   “Giving or receiving?”

 

Derek’s cock twitches at the thought of John’s mouth on him, but at the moment he can’t deny that oral is something he associates with a part of himself that’s damaged and broken and he doesn’t want that feeling to taint their first time together no matter how far he’s come with therapy.

 

“Both.” He manages to choke out, he’s confused enough about his own feelings to the act to even try and contemplate John in either role. John nods and leans in to lightly brush his lips over Derek’s.

 

“Anything else?” John asks, voice soft and encouraging.

 

“Don’t call me names.” John stiffens and Derek instantly knows what he’s thinking. “No…it’s okay, I like being your boy. I’ll always like that, just not—“ He licks his lips, struggling to even speak the words. “Not slut, or whore…or mutt.” He can’t control the little hitch in his voice when he says the last word.

 

John draws him into his embrace, it’s tight and fierce as though he’s trying to protect him from ghosts of the past that could hurt Derek to the core. Yes, maybe once they could’ve, but feeling the other man wrap around him like a shield he doesn’t think they’ll have the power they once did.

 

“Never.” John whispers in his ear and Derek knows that he’s pitched his voice low and soft to try and disguise the fury that edges the single word making it sharp to his ears. The bitter scent of John’s anger would’ve given it away even if he didn’t know the man so well after all these years.

 

Derek turns his head and presses his mouth to John’s. There’s no way he wants to dwell on the past and much as he loves that John is so outraged on his behalf at the moment he only wants to look forward. Forward to a future with John. To a future where they get to put his bed to very good use. So he kisses him with all the hunger and need and loneliness he’s felt over the past few years, fuelling his desire with wet hot kisses and seeking hands.

 

They kiss helplessly, not willing for one moment to let their lips part as they frantically tug at buttons, unbuckle belts and lower zippers, sometimes not always their own. Shoes are toed off, clothes are yanked and pulled from their bodies, the sound of tearing seams is loud and he can’t bring himself to care just as long as he feels naked skin under his hands right now.

 

Eventually, panting they draw back and look their fill. John is lean and golden, skin warm and tanned on his face and arms fading to a lighter shade on his torso and even paler at his groin. The contrast to his own dark pelt and even skin tone is stark and excitement coils tight in his belly as he pictures their limbs entwined. The nest of light brown pubic hair that surrounds the base of John’s cock is thick and curly, his strong thighs lightly furred with a golden fuzz and Derek’s fingertips itch to touch the soft looking hair. When he can finally drag his eyes away from the thick jut of John’s cut cock that dips down heavily from its sheer weight, Derek notices the marks on his mate’s skin. Scars.

 

Beyond his control, his fingers instinctively seek them out. He recognises the almost surgically precise white line of scar tissue high on John’s chest just below his right shoulder where the Darach had thrown a knife at him with such force it had embedded itself into his flesh and bone. The rage that fills him at the sight is white hot and he regrets that he and Scott had shown her any mercy at all. The need to feel her under his claws is almost all consuming.

 

There’s a constellation of smaller ones concentrated around a single large scar that runs down John’s hip and flank. He brushes over them lightly, almost hesitantly, like they could still cause the other man pain. It’s somehow wrong how the large jagged one at the older man’s hip feels like silk under his fingers. A raised silky smooth line of scar tissue that records John’s suffering should not feel good.

 

“Shrapnel.” John explains as he places his warm hand on Derek’s chest and strokes him, his fingers threading and twirling through the dark hair leaving a trail of tingling goose bumps in their wake. “Sshhh. It’s okay.”

 

It’s only then that Derek realises he’s growling and John’s trying to soothe him, not entice. The angry rumbling vibrates from deep in his chest at the sight of his mate’s wounds. Evidence of past pain and suffering. It didn’t matter how old they were he still wanted to go out and find the perpetrators and gut them where they stood. Instead he drags the older man into his embrace, wanting to feel him strong and alive in his arms.

 

Derek presses his face into John’s neck and breathes deeply, closing his eyes and letting his mate’s scent wrap around him reassuringly that he is well and unharmed. It dawns on him in a startling moment of clarity that this is exactly what John was feeling only moments before, the need to protect and avenge a loved one, because not all scars are visible and yet John sees his.  Sees all of them and accepts them.

 

The sound of his mate’s ragged breathing slowly impinges on Derek’s consciousness, that and the way John’s gun-callused hands are stroking possessively over his back and down to his ass as his hips bump steadily into his. John’s cock is hot and hard as it brushes over his thigh leaving a burning streak of pre-come that feels like a brand on Derek’s skin. He can feel his own cock caught between them rubbing against John’s abs. It’s a jolting awareness that thrusts him back into the fire of need, the heat of desire and Derek wants his mate with a passion that threatens to drop him to his knees as he leans into the other man’s body and blindly reaches out.

 

“Fuck” John grinds out savagely in his ear, snapping him completely back into the here and now where somehow he’s got his hand wrapped around John’s cock and is jerking him. His own cock throbs with every beat of his racing heart and his palm tingles from the feel of John’s hot flesh and velvet skin sliding over it, Derek instinctively swipes it over the head to gather all the pre-come that is seeping from the slit to stop the friction from becoming too much for the older man’s huge cut cock. When John takes hold of him, Derek whines and thrusts his hips forward. It feels incredible. He can feel every scar, nick and callus on John’s warm hand tugging and pulling at his sensitive foreskin, gripping him tight as he lets his forehead rest against John’s so they can look down between them and see both of their cocks deeply flushed and dripping.

 

The puff of John’s breath against his mouth has him parting his lips, through slitted eyes he can see John’s done the same, the intimacy of it wraps a tight band around Derek’s chest. They’re breathing each other’s air. Inhaling the whimpers, sucking down the moans and swallowing the gasps as their hips rock back and forth, hands gripping tighter, arms moving faster until John cries out. With his free hand he stops Derek from pumping him, making him let go. Derek’s hand itches, feeling curiously empty now he’s not holding John while his own cock feels almost cold without those long fingers and hot palm wrapping around it.

 

“I’m going to come if you keep that up.” John pants out, chest heaving, sweat glistening on his chest and shoulders. Derek can’t resist licking a long stripe over John’s collarbone, savouring the salty musk taste on his tongue as much as the choked little noise his mate makes.

 

Derek stumbles, somewhat awkwardly, John’s hand steadying him as he starts to insistently back him up towards the bed, the older man seemingly not wanting any space between them at all, trying to keep their bodies pressed tight together. The sudden feel of the mattress against the back of his legs has Derek sprawling and he struggles to slide further up the bed, only to stop abruptly by the hand firmly gripping his ankle holding him in place. John’s thumb rubs over the slender bone in a possessive caress that sucks the very air from his lungs. John crawls up between his spread legs, hooded eyes smouldering at him, an implacable determination on his face that warns there will be no turning back, no denying what they both want right here and now.

 

John settles on his knees and looks, the heavy flush of colour that darkens his cheekbones making it obvious that he likes what he sees. Every inch of him is examined with a scrutiny that makes Derek squirm with both excitement and embarrassment in equal measure. It’s beyond simply being completely naked in front of the other man, John’s gaze is like a physical touch and Derek can feel his body react uncontrollably, nipples peaking, cock flexing and stiffening even more with pre-come dripping steadily from the almost purple tip onto his belly.

 

“Let me see sweetheart…I want to see everything.” John rasps hoarsely.

 

Desperation has him shifting restlessly, hips lifting, legs moving and spreading wide, exposing the most vulnerable private parts of himself, fingers clutching at the soft cotton sheets beneath him. God, he’s so hungry to be touched, wants it so bad his skin agonizingly sensitive, a pain that can only be soothed by John’s hands, by John’s lips.

 

“John…please.” He begs not ashamed, the need is too powerful to resist and he can’t draw his eyes away from John’s slightly puffy, red lips – wanting to taste them again so much he licks his own hungrily as he stares. John’s expression is fiercely erotic, his nostrils flaring with each deep panting breath, pupils blown beneath heavy lids before he arcs over Derek’s body, hands supporting him either side of Derek’s shoulders, leaning down until their lips are only inches apart.

 

“Such beautiful eyes.  Don’t ever stop looking at me like that.” He breathes out, a low and husky demand. “Want to see it all the time…how much you want me, like how much I want you.” John kisses him, deep and exploring, licking into his mouth to sweep over Derek’s teeth and tongue as though he’s trying to find the source of his taste and drink it down.

 

Derek feels hollowed out, empty and needing John to fill all the aching hungry spaces inside him. Dragging his mouth away, gasping for air. “Need you inside me.”

 

John groans, arms starting to shake and collapses on him, hips jerking with unsteady thrusts as their cocks grind together, mouth hot and wet as he suckles the cord of tendon in his throat to just below his ear. Derek’s lost to sensation, senses so finely tuned that he’s only aware that somehow John’s moved and grabbed the lube when sure, confident fingers start to rub and massage the hot sensitive puckered skin surrounding his hole with slick cooling fluid.

 

Twitching and pulsing, he can feel it trying to draw those fingers inside, but John seems content to drive him insane by sending those nerve endings into a frenzy with the little swirling patterns he’s making against his overheated flesh.

 

“Please.” Is ripped from him when John dips his head and starts to suckle hard on his nipple interspersed with light bites across his chest to the other one. Back and forth, sucking and nipping and biting and...fuck. He’d never realised that they were so damn sensitive. John groans, long and deep, making Derek aware that somehow his hands had found their way around the other man’s broad back, stroking the silky golden flesh from wide shoulders to the dip and swell of his tight firm ass and…oh God…his claws have popped out and are digging into his mate keeping him in place. His very human mate.

 

Making them withdraw is an effort, his wolf feels so close to the surface pushing him to the very limit of his control, he has to actively concentrate.

 

“Did I hurt you?” Derek gasps worriedly, relief pouring through him when John lifts his head and he feels scorched by the fiery intensity in his eyes as he shakes his head. It’s at that moment when relief has him sagging back into the bed and all the muscles abruptly release the tension from anxiety that a solitary finger dips in and presses past the tight ring of muscle. He can feel the stretch of the thin delicate skin around his eyes as they widen in surprise almost as much as the spread of his ass from John’s penetration.

 

The stroke of that finger within him is a smooth glide from all the lube down there and with a gentle twist he brushes against something deep inside Derek that has him arching off the bed at the shocking electric burst of pleasure. Panting heavily he can only stare dazed at the other man hovering over him, a distant part of him registering the pleased smirk on his mate’s face while another part just doesn’t give a damn because it feels so good.

 

“Sensitive.” John grates out. “Lucky us. Not everyone is. You think this is good, when we have more time I’ll milk your prostate.” He punctuates his words with another gentle, but firm stroke of Derek’s gland making him writhe and moan uncontrollably, fireworks going off behind his eyelids as they slam closed. God help him, he can’t imagine anything better than this, he’s not sure he’ll survive it.

 

“God, you’re so tight.” John groans. “Can’t wait to get my dick in there, gonna feel so good.” John croons as he leans down to lick at Derek’s mouth, tongues tangling slick and hot.

 

Derek’s lost. His whole body electrified with need as John’s fingers plunge in a controlled steady rhythm into the very core of him, somehow one finger has now become two and he has no idea when that happened can only hear himself whining, begging his mate for more.

 

“Fuck me John. Please.” His eyelids flutter open, hands grabbing at John’s shoulders desperately, hips bucking encouragingly as John looks at him with a hunger that should scare him, because the man looks ready to devour him whole, but he isn’t. He’s not afraid because the hands that hold him and stroke him are tender in their command of his body, leading him and coaxing him to sensations that he’s never felt before. It’s not the selfish, almost painful taking of pleasure from his body that he’s experienced in the past. Whatever John wants to do to him, with him, he doesn’t care because he trusts him, knows that he’s safer than he’s ever been in his life.

 

“Soon my sweet boy. Don’t wanna hurt you.” John drawls the words, need slurring his voice.

 

Frantic Derek begs. “Please…please, don’t care…want you to fuck me. I’ll heal.” John stops and stares down at him for the longest time, forcing Derek to lift his hips to get the penetration he needs from John’s long fingers.

 

“Just because you can doesn’t mean you should.” He says eventually, before starting again and this time Derek swears John’s going slower than before, dragging out the delicious friction until he’s covered in sweat and shaking uncontrollably. His cock is a throbbing, aching thing, so blood heavy that it feels like a burning brand where it rests, twitching and pulsing against his slick abs.

 

Time ebbs and flows, pleasure rising and falling only to rise again under John’s knowledgeable hands leaving him taut and shivering. They could’ve been there 5 minutes or 5 hours stretched out on his bed, Derek’s not entirely sure, he doesn’t want it to end, but he needs more. Awareness returns to find John three fingers deep in his ass, stroking the walls and scissoring open to stretch his passage. He’s going to lose his mind if John doesn’t get inside him right this minute.

 

“Now John, now.” There must be something in his voice because the older man lifts his gaze from where he’s been watching his fingers delve deep into Derek’s ass and he slowly withdraws them, wiping excess lube onto the sheet. Reaching across to grab a condom he stills expectantly when Derek captures his hand and prevents him from opening the packet.

 

“You can if you want, but I’m clean, know you are too…I want you to come inside me. Want you to fill me up and mark me with your scent.” His belly tightens, abs quivering as John visibly shudders and grabs the base of his cock.

 

It takes him a moment to compose himself, his chest heaving, but when he does his movements are so quick and assured that Derek almost misses the fine tremors in the older man’s hands and that in itself is the most reassuring thing. That Derek’s not alone in how much he wants this.

 

John gets him into position with dizzying speed, a pillow placed beneath his hips, guiding Derek to hold his legs up and spread open, hands behind his knees as John dips his fingers into Derek’s ass checking that he’s well-lubed and not tightened up in the meantime. All embarrassment is forgotten. It’s so fucking hot being on display like this and he keens softly in encouragement when he feels the hot thick knob of John’s dripping cock press against his hungry hole.

 

“Look so good like this…spread out ready to take my cock.” John pants out with hot, glittery eyes.

 

Derek can’t control the startled gasp as he feels it press in and penetrate the puckered ring of muscle. It’s so different to fingers and he’s never had the confidence to try anything else back there. He’s not prepared for the way his nerve endings flare to life at the delicious burning stretch as John lets him catch his breath with the tip firmly lodged within the entrance, he can feel his flesh pulse and twitch around the flared head greedily trying to draw more of him in.

 

“Derek I need to—“ John grinds out, his jaw clenching tightly.                                                                                                                                                    

 

Derek nods his head frantically. “Yes, yes…keep going.”

 

“Push out sweetheart and let me in.”

 

John’s above him, a loving protective presence that blocks out the world except for the one they’ve made here, he fills Derek’s vision leaving no room for anything else. It’s just the two of them. Reaching up he cups John’s jaw and brushes his thumb over the other man’s lips giving him a tremulous smile which he hopes at the very least is encouraging if not enticing, John nips his thumb delicately before turning his head and kissing his palm with a sweet passion that makes his heart flutter.

 

The warmth in John’s eyes as he smiles down at him in return is a balm soothing his battered and bruised soul.

 

“I love you Derek Hale, now and always.” John doesn’t wait for a response, he slowly, painstakingly, pushes inside him until he bottoms out. Balls, big and heavy, rest ripely on the curve of Derek’s ass, a hot thick rod of flesh flexing uncontrollably as it deeply penetrates him, filling in all the cold empty spaces he carries inside him. John fills him with his warmth, with his love.

 

“Feel so good baby…hot and tight.” John sounds like he’s gargled gravel, so low and intense it ripples pleasurably down Derek’s spine.

 

His breath hiccups at the awareness that there’s not a part of his ass where he doesn’t feel John, every sensitive inch inside is being touched by the thick weighty cock. He’s pretty sure he could come given enough time without his mate even having to move, simply from the steady pressure against what he knows now is his prostate.

 

“Okay, sweet boy?” John asks, leaning down to brush his lips gently over Derek’s. John’s hips barely move, yet it feels like fireworks exploding throughout Derek’s groin and he moans. Long and loud. There’s no higher brain function left in his head, he’s sure of it. No control and he goes purely on instinct and lets his legs wrap tightly around John’s hips, locking his ankles, his hands reach up to slide around John’s back and pull him down so his mate is covering him entirely.

 

The broken noise that John makes fuels something primal in Derek. The wildness that surges through him has him kissing John frantically, murmuring against his lips ‘please John, fuck me please’ over and over as he bucks his pelvis, back arching at the pulses of pleasure he feels at every bumping nudge of John’s cock into his sweet spot.

 

John’s shaking uncontrollably in his arms as his hips start to move. It’s too slow, too gentle and Derek knows that he’s trying to do that for his sake, the gritted teeth and beads of sweat trickling down his temples tells him that as much as the harshly whispered _‘slow slow’_ his mate mutters under his breath, but he needs it hard and fast.

 

Maybe later, they can take their time, but something tells him this first time he needs more. He needs John to claim him, to possess him completely. His wolf is whining and keening in desperation, it’s rising and he can feel his eyes flash and his fangs drop as his claws burst out of the tips of his fingers. Instincts take over and with his supernatural strength he pushes John off him, a growl of displeasure rumbling throughout the room as his mate’s cock drags out of him so abruptly.

 

John groans his name deeply, sounding wounded as he cups his still rigidly hard cock and balls protectively.

 

“Fuck me – claim me.” Derek demands, urging his Alpha mate to prove his claim. Prove his worth. John watches him warily, kneeling to one side of the bed. “I want this John, all of me…man and wolf.” Reaching out he puts his clawed hand on John’s chest, above his heart feeling the frantic thrumming beat under his palm.

 

Snarling fiercely, he lets the tips of his claws press into John's flesh, not penetrating deeply, mere pinpricks. “I need it. I need you to not hold back.  Show me that you are my Alpha.”

 

Whatever John reads in his expression and in his tone must reassure him. His eyes lose that wariness darkening almost to completely black as his pupils blow out. John’s tongue flickers temptingly over his lips wetting them almost obscenely before he growls out “On your hands and knees.”  

 

It’s an order that brooks no denial or hesitation and instantly Derek turns to face the large wooden headboard of the bed. Conscious of John watching his every move he spreads his knees wide and tilts his hips up to present his ass to his Alpha mate.

 

“Good boy.” John says and Derek shivers in delight, his cock and balls swinging heavily below him, as John’s hands run lovingly up his spine then back down over the round globes of his ass, gently but insistently prying them apart. Fingers probe into his hole, slick with more lube and his soft growl of satisfaction sounds more like a purr even to himself.

 

John nestles the head of his cock into his entrance, pressing in half an inch that makes Derek mewl. It’s not enough. The crazy thought of just thrusting back and taking what he needs crosses his mind, but there’s an aura surrounding John now, one that instinctively tells him that it wouldn’t be a good idea. All he can do is whine, high-pitched in his tight throat desperate for John to understand what it is that he’s asking for.

 

Large warm hands grab his hips, holding him steady and he whimpers.

 

“My good boy. I’ll give you what you need.” There’s such approval in John’s voice that even without seeing him Derek suspects that his mate knew what he’d been half-tempted to do. There’s one breathless moment where Derek can feel his heart hammering in his chest as he waits then John surges in, not stopping as his thick weighty cock parts delicate tissues and tender unused muscles to sheathe himself completely in Derek’s ass.

 

Derek howls his pleasure at the sudden fullness, the fat head of John’s cock finding its target unerringly. The sheets tear loudly under his raking claws.

 

John gives him barely a second to adjust before he’s pulling back and thrusting powerfully. The bruising grip on his hips, the hot length plunging into his ass as John fucks him is overwhelming, he can feel every ridge, bump and vein in his mate’s cock as it brushes against every inch of his passage. Overstimulated from the inside, Derek’s cock jerks in time with every push and he feels so close and they’ve only just begun. Chasing his release he rocks back into every thrust, the rhythmic sounds of their flesh slapping together getting faster and louder spurs him on.

 

“God damn. Your ass was made for me, so fucking good.” John blasphemes rawly, panting heavily behind him.

 

Reaching under, Derek gropes for his cock, the need to tug and pull on it until he comes is a compulsion born of a dick so hard he could hammer nails and balls so full and ripe with come it feels like they could burst as they bounce and sway between his thighs. John grips the back of his neck with a large hand and guides his head down to the mattress, the need to comply and obey is instinctive, but it still shocks Derek to his core even as it thrills him feeling John’s power and authority.

 

“No. You’ll come on my cock alone.” John grates out, his hips don’t stop snapping out that age-old rhythm even as he gathers both of Derek’s hands and settles them on the small of his back. John’s hands wrap around his wrists like shackles holding him tautly in place as he fucks him. John’s dominance is an anchor that leaves Derek feeling open and lighter, not weighed down by the past and its horrors, he can give up everything into John’s keeping and know that he is safe and protected, cared for by a good man who he can trust.

 

Balanced on his spread knees and resting his upper body weight on his shoulders and head turned to one side, feeling the high-quality sheets beneath his cheek, Derek can feel his balls draw up tight to his body.

 

“Harder…I need it harder.” Derek growls and John instantly complies, pounding harder and deeper until it feels like John’s trying to fucking crawl inside him, to become a permanent part of him and his wolf keens taking control of his throat to voice his approval. The tingling at the base of his spine spreads, warning him that with one more thrust he’s going to come.

 

“John…John I’m gonna—“

 

When he feels his cock jerk as the wave of almost excruciating pleasure washes over him Derek roars until he’s hoarse, he can’t stop because John’s fucking him through it even as his body tries to clench tight around him, every pulse of come that spurts out of his throbbing cock is echoed by every one of John’s thrusts. It goes on and on, the world dissolving into white around him.

 

It’s beyond anything he’s ever experienced. John releases his arms and Derek collapses weakly onto the bed, hips still raised by the now-sodden pillow under him. John follows him down hips stuttering, hands reaching for his, their fingers entwining either side of Derek’s head and he can feel his Alpha mate’s hot panting breath against his back, right over his tattoo.

 

“So good. My wonderful boy, you feel so good.” John sobs into his sweat slick back, forehead resting between his shoulder blades, fucking him deep one last time. Hips jerking harshly, with a growl of possession, John latches onto the back of Derek’s neck with his mouth and as his cock bucks and pulses deep inside he bites down hard. Derek can feel the convulsive spasms of John’s belly against his back as he comes, can feel his eyes roll back into his head as John claims him. The pain and pleasure of it is only rivalled by the security of knowing that he is John’s and John is his.

 

Dazed it takes a few minutes for Derek to regain his senses. John’s still draped over him, heavy and warm, cock softening, but still big and firm enough to stay in his ass for the moment.   When he starts to stir Derek grips his hands tight preventing him from leaving.

 

“Let me get a cloth to—“

 

Derek shakes his head. “Stay.” He says hoarsely, throat raw. “Stay in me…please.”

 

“Okay.” John whispers, his lips brushing over Derek’s neck and shoulders in lingering open-mouthed kisses. He stiffens for a moment, before dropping his head against Derek’s, his forehead resting just above Derek’s ear. “Are you okay?”

 

Derek can only nod, still feeling awed and overwhelmed by John’s possession. “Cause you’re crying sweetheart.”

 

As soon as John points it out he can feel the dampness on his cheeks and smiles, drawing their clasped hands towards his mouth and gently kissing the older man’s scarred knuckles. The bite at the back of his neck throbs and Derek rejoices at the feeling, the proof that his Alpha has well and truly claimed him, that he will never be alone again.

 

“I’m more than okay, it was perfect.” Derek says, sighing contentedly when John brushes his lips over the wound, tongue flickering soothingly over it.

 

“Yes you are, perfect in every way beautiful boy, in every way.” John murmurs against his skin and Derek can feel the heat bloom on his cheeks as John deliberately misunderstands him.

 

John pulls back giving him such an intense scrutinizing look that he can feel it brushing over the surface of his skin.

 

“It’s not healing.” Urgency fuels his voice. “I knew it, there is something wrong. That should’ve healed well and truly by now. Did I do something wrong?”

 

“No, no. You did everything right.” Lifting up slightly on one arm Derek cranes his head back so he can see John’s face better. The fear he sees on it sends a twinge of guilt roiling through his stomach. “Honestly.”

 

John watches him for a long moment before the fear disappears, but there’s still worry visible in the deep furrow that sits between his eyebrows.

 

“Why did you bite me?” Derek asks softly.

 

John doesn’t say anything for a moment, thinking. “I couldn’t help myself. It was...overpowering.  Felt like I needed to leave a mark on you, so everyone would know—“ He stops, an expression crossing his face so quickly before he regains his composure that Derek almost doesn’t see it. Almost misses the tell-tale flicker of deep-seated satisfaction.

 

“Know what?” Derek insists, not taking his eyes off the other man.

 

John huffs out a shaky breath. “That you’re mine.”

 

Derek nods his head in understanding, relief relaxing his shoulders as he confides. “I can control my healing you know.” John’s eyebrows lift in surprise. “So if I want to have a permanent mark from being claimed by my Alpha mate I can.” He smiles tentatively at the other man. “So everyone knows that I belong to you.”

 

John’s eyes widen and the smile that appears is dazzling as he leans in and kisses Derek with a joy and simmering passion that steals his breath away.

 

When they pull apart, panting heavily, John leans back in. “Never gonna let you go. You’re mine…my boy now.”

 

Just as their lips are about to touch Derek whispers “Yours.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A month after their first time together and John's never been happier or more protective of Derek so when someone from their past hurts him, little do they know that Derek's got an Alpha mate ready, willing and able to defend him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'ed.

[Life is wonderful - Jason Mraz](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=by3FmASgmYk)

 

Derek comes in from the lounge room and throws his phone on the kitchen table in frustration. John frowns as he puckers his lips to puff a cooling breath over the spoonful of homemade chili he’s making from scratch before taking a taste.

 

Not bad. Maybe a pinch more salt.

 

“Everything okay?” John moves to the sink to rinse off the spoon, deliberately casual, watching Derek from the corner of his eye. The younger man prowls restlessly across the kitchen floor, a pinched look around his mouth and it doesn’t take much to pick up on the unhappy vibe that he’s giving off.

 

“No…yes.” Derek corrects himself with a huff, maybe due to the raised eyebrow that John gives him. “Isaac.”

 

John can feel his jaw clench tight. The urge to snarl at the name of the man who consistently upsets Derek whenever he makes contact with him is nearly overwhelming. That there are days when sometimes he feels a darker, more primal compulsion to protect Derek no longer surprises him. He’s not a 100% sure if that’s what being in an intimate relationship with a werewolf does or if it’s something that’s been inside him all the time and has now been unleashed, but he can’t deny the need to rip apart anything that hurts his mate and if Isaac Lahey were here before him right now…well it wouldn’t be pretty.

 

He can tell when Derek’s had contact with Isaac, most times he’s just sad, but today there’s a wounded bleakness in his eyes that makes John think his mate’s taken one too many hits where he’s most vulnerable, which is the memory of his young pack.

 

“Why don’t you go for a run.” John manages to say in what he hopes is a fairly even tone. “This needs to simmer, so you’ve got about an hour.” A relieved look crosses Derek’s face and John knows it’s because he’s not pressing him to reveal what Derek’s ex-Beta had said. His mate kisses him soft and lingering on the lips before he strips off and walks naked out the kitchen door. John has to mentally shake himself, the sight of Derek’s tight muscular ass bunching and flexing as he walks away is damn near hypnotic.

 

Watching from the kitchen window, John sees the large black wolf leap the back fence to disappear into the early evening shadows of the neighbourhood.  The boundary of the preserve isn't too far away and hopefully his mate will wear himself out by chasing a rabbit or two so he's not thinking about whatever Isaac's said this time. Sighing, he unclenches his fist from around the spoon he’s clutching like a weapon.

 

It’s been a month since he and Derek had sex for the first time, just thinking about it sends a hot flutter through his groin, and it feels that they’re closer and more connected than he’d ever considered possible. It’s beyond not being able to keep their hands off each other, which makes their shared workplace a trial in frustration and untimely erections, it’s having someone to talk to over dinner, someone to hold before drifting off to sleep, someone to laugh with at his son’s antics when they Skype with Stiles and Lydia. It’s having someone to love once again and John’s never been happier and with the way Derek smiles and laughs more he thinks it’s true for him too.

 

There’s barely been a night when they haven’t been together, apart from their working shifts, they’ve been almost inseparable. Sure, there are still things that they’re working on, trying to navigate their way through the emotional upheaval of their recently changed relationship of friends, pack mates and work colleagues to the more intimate one of mates and lovers. It’s so passionate and intense that John sometimes finds he forgets to breathe when Derek’s already magnificent eyes light up even brighter whenever he enters the room and he smiles in just that way that’s only for him.

 

Sometimes though, Derek struggles with being allowed to be happy and content much as he tries to hide it, but John always knows, can always tell when despair casts its shadow over the younger man. They’ve found that he strangely enough finds peace in running through the forest even though it’s chockful of memories of his family, his pack. A lot of the time John goes with him, trailing after the huge black wolf who frequently disappears from view into the undergrowth, but as frequently comes back to check on him, tail wagging slowly from side to side, letting John run his fingers through his soft fur before heading off again with a nuzzle or gentle lick of his hand. Other times Derek goes by himself and when he comes back still in his wolf form, his eyes sad but no longer rimmed with guilt, he lets John groom him for hours, head resting on John’s knee as he lets his mate comb his fingers through his fur to untangle it and pick out the leaves and twigs caught up in the strands. It’s soothing for both of them.

 

The ringing of Derek’s phone startles him and John jerks his unfocused gaze away from the view of his now completely dark backyard to glare at it when he sees the caller ID flash up on the screen. He’s not interfered before and he shouldn’t now, he knows that. Derek’s a grown man and more than likely wouldn’t appreciate him sticking his nose in, but seeing him in pain is unbearable. Flicking a guilty glance towards the window, his eyes dart back towards the phone and the temptation is simply too much and he picks it up and swipes his thumb over the screen to accept the call.

 

“What the fuck? Where’s my money asshole?” The familiar voice snaps out, not even giving him a chance to speak. John waits a moment listening to the agitated breathing that huffs loudly in his ear.

 

“Isaac.”

 

The sounds stop abruptly on a sharp inhalation. The silence seems to go on forever until Isaac releases his held breath in a shaky rush.

 

“What?...Who is this?...Sheriff?” Isaac’s voice loses the snippy pissant tone, becoming almost painfully hesitant. God, he sounds so young and yet to John’s surprise his resolve doesn’t waver when he thinks of Isaac’s initial razor blade viciousness when he answered and the way he emotionally guts his mate with every slashing bitter word, each and every time.

 

“Yes Isaac, it’s John Stilinski.”

 

“What? How?” John hears the phone shifting and he can picture the curly haired young man checking the number he’s called. “You’ve got Derek’s phone.”

 

“Yeah, he’s just stepped out and left it behind.”

 

“Oh…okay.” Isaac pauses for a considering moment. “Uhh…how are you? How’s Stiles?”

 

“Don’t make polite noises for me Isaac.” John says grimly. “Do yourself a favour – don’t call again, better yet, lose this number.”

 

“Wha…what?” John has to hand it to Isaac for recovering quickly when he snarls. “You can’t tell me what to do. This is between me and Derek.”

 

“Not anymore.”

 

“So he’s hiding behind you.” John winces at the jagged sound that follows. He could call it a laugh, but it’s too bitter, too empty, too lost. If it was Stiles sounding like that, John would’ve been on the next flight to Boston. “I’m not surprised. He was always weak, unworthy of being our Alpha.”

 

The momentary sympathy is lost in a surging red haze of anger. “Hold it right there Mister, Derek doesn’t even know I’m talking to you. Derek’s never been weak, he’s the strongest man I know and deep in your heart, Isaac Lahey, you know it and you resent it because he’s everything you're not.”

 

“Do tell.” Isaac says in that snarky know-it-all tone John hadn’t heard for years, goading him to react. John curses inwardly, the wolf had obviously heard the dangerous creaking of the phone as John’s hand had gripped it crushingly tight and he finds he can’t hold back from blasting the younger man with the truth.

 

“Because unlike some, no matter what crap fest rains down on him he never gives up, never stops trying, he never stops caring…even for damned ungrateful parasites because he’s a good man.”

 

John makes no bones as to what he’s implying, feeling only dark satisfaction when Isaac sucks in a sharp breath at the pointed attack. “You would defend him…after everything he’s done, everything he did to us? How he got Erica and Boyd killed?”

 

“Christ Isaac, you know better than that. The Alpha pack killed Erica and Boyd.” John grinds out harshly. Grief at the brutal loss of two young lives holds him rigid before he succumbs and rubs his thumb and forefinger over the bridge of his nose feeling the start of a headache begin to skewer through the front of his skull. “I’m not saying he didn’t make mistakes.”

 

“Mistakes.” Isaac screeches viciously and John winces as it deepens the piercing sensation in his head to almost intolerable levels.

 

“How old are you now Isaac? 22, 23.” Hearing an indecipherable sound he continues, reciting the stark awful facts that had made him throw up when he’d finally been told the truth about the supernatural events that had threatened to consume not only his extended family, but his town as well. “Derek was the same age when he came back to Beacon Hills. Twenty two and had already lost nearly his entire family to hunters. His sister and Alpha murdered, he has no one and there’s a rogue Alpha, a bitten teenager, a psychotic uncle, a darach sacrificing innocents and an Alpha pack looming ready to tear everyone and everything apart. Put yourself in his place as you are now and tell me do you have all the answers as to what he could’ve done better or differently. If you can tell me that you’ve never made a mistake go right ahead, cast that first stone.” 

 

There’s nothing but the sound of Isaac’s breathing. It’s faster, shaky with agitation.

 

“Maybe he shouldn’t have approached a bunch of teenagers, but he gave you a choice, all of you, unlike what Scott went through…I don’t know of anyone that took to it as well as you did Isaac and you can’t say you didn’t like the power, the confidence it gave you. What you hate him for isn’t the bite or the loss of your pack mates, it’s that he wasn’t willing to slot into the role you wanted of him.”

 

“What role?” Isaac asks warily, a trace of scorn tainting his voice.

 

“You wanted a replacement older brother, not an Alpha.” John wonders if he’s getting through to the young man. Wishes he could tell him that his name is among the many that Derek screams during the middle of the night as he thrashes and writhes in John’s embrace as he holds him through the nightmares that plague him more frequently than John would like, but Derek’s private pain is exactly that – private.

 

“He called it a gift, we were meant to be a family, but he threw me out and look at where I am now –“ Isaac breaks off, whining faintly, before his voice drops a couple of octaves and John strains to hear him. “Alone. Omega.”

 

“You were a pack and that’s family and so much more, I’m not a wolf and yet I can see that, I can feel it. Derek is your pack brother, but back then he was also your Alpha too and an Alpha puts the pack and everyone else before themselves even if it hurts. They carry the burden of hard decisions…like sending someone away for their own protection.” He ignores the snort of disbelief. “Derek gave up his Alpha-hood to save Cora, but it could’ve been anyone of you and he would’ve done the same.”

 

The silence is only broken by a loud screeching sound. It takes John a moment to work out that it’s the sound of claws being dragged over a metal surface and he wonders where exactly Isaac’s calling from before his musings are interrupted by an achingly young voice, sounding like he hardly dares to believe when he asks “Really?”

 

“Yes, really. Isaac, you don’t have to be alone. It’s your choice, but there’s a pack here that would welcome you back in a heartbeat.  Whatever you decide though don’t call Derek again unless you’re willing to talk to him reasonably because I won’t have my mate upset.”

 

“Your…your mate?” Isaac’s shock is palpable across the thousands of miles between them.

 

“Yes. I won’t see him hurt, not by anyone.” The thread of steel John pours into his tone then has his jaw clenching tight. “Do you understand me?”

 

The promise of terrible retribution obviously isn’t lost on Isaac as he gulps out “Yes” before hanging up.

 

John looks down at the now dark screen of the phone. He should feel guilt or remorse for verbally terrorizing a kid roughly the same age as his son, but he doesn’t. There’s only relief and satisfaction that he can prevent Derek suffering any more pain or hurt, physically or emotionally, no matter what it takes. When his mate’s voice breaks the silence, John almost drops the phone. It’s only then he realises he can feel the chill of night air drift across the kitchen from the open back door.

 

“Did you mean it?” Derek fills the doorway with his naked muscular body and for all his grace and visible strength, for all his mate’s sensual perfection that has never failed to arouse him, John finds he can’t draw his eyes away from the intense electric blue glow of his mate’s penetrating gaze.

 

“Mean what?” Stomach knotting fiercely with nerves, he places the phone carefully on the kitchen table, wipes his suddenly sweaty palms over the front of his sweatpants. Worry that he’s misstepped with his interference and set Derek back in his treatment makes him feel physically ill.

 

“That I’m the strongest man you know.” The words are enunciated carefully as though Derek can’t quite comprehend their meaning and needs John’s help to decipher the puzzle. “That I’m a good man.”

 

“Yes.” John says bluntly, helpless to tell him anything but the truth no matter how stark it feels as it spills into the space between them. He barely has time to brace himself, moving automatically as Derek launches himself across the divide to crash into his body. John staggers back, the kitchen cabinets behind him the only thing holding him upright as his arms are filled with a trembling naked man. The scents of the forest coat Derek’s skin making John’s nose twitch. It’s a rich combination of fertile earth, pine sap and crushed grass making John feel like he’s holding onto a wild thing and one wrong move could send him bolting back to the densely wooded preserve.

 

Derek’s face is pressed into the curve of John’s neck and he can feel the heat of the other man’s moist breath against his skin. He’s murmuring something indistinguishable over and over and John lets his hands stroke and smooth over the broad expanse of Derek’s back and shoulders trying to comfort the distraught man and not let the silky texture under his fingers distract him.

 

“I’m not…I’m not strong. I’m not good.” Derek pulls back and the grief that etches deep furrows on his face hurts John to see them. Derek’s hands grip his biceps painfully and John shakes his head denying what his mate is saying.

 

“If I’m strong why didn’t I—“ Derek’s lips form a grim disbelieving line as he swallows hard and John holds his breath as he waits. “Why didn’t I protect my pack like I should’ve? If I’m good why did I hurt Isaac? Why did I go to those fucking clubs?”

 

John’s chest constricts at Derek’s pain and confusion. “Sweetheart, it doesn’t matter how many times you get knocked down, what counts is how many times you pick yourself up and keep going, keep trying to do the right thing even if it means coping in ways you never dreamed of. You survived. That takes a strength and courage that few people possess.”

 

“That doesn’t help all the people who are dead because of—“ John quickly slaps his hand over Derek’s mouth.

 

“Don’t you say it. Don’t you fucking dare. There’s so many who are still alive because of you including Isaac.” John can feel the ragged hitch of Derek’s breathing as his chest shudders in reaction against his. Sliding his hands up to the back of Derek’s neck he holds him in place not letting him look away. “The others died because there are some seriously fucked up people in the world. Evil people.”

 

John squeezes Derek’s nape, demanding his attention as he struggles to keep his voice calm and firm. Tries to push the anger at the people who’ve damaged Derek so badly away because he’s pretty sure that his mate’s insecurity would make him feel that it’s directed at him rather than at those who actually deserve it.

 

“It’s a terrible thing that they’re gone, you can’t change what’s happened and you can’t bring them back, so you honour them by living, by having a good life...a wonderful one. You live the best life you can, with love and laughter and sometimes with pain and hurt too. Live your life Derek.”

 

He holds Derek’s gaze, watching as the intense wolf blue glow disappears between one blink of his eyes and the next. The beautiful starbursts of brown and gold and blue glisten wetly and John gently tips Derek’s head down and kisses each fluttering eyelid, the lashes tickling his lips as he whispers “Live Derek. Live it with me.”

 

The tension that’s held Derek taut and upright suddenly releases like cut puppet strings and he slumps heavily against John who finds himself pinned to the kitchen cabinets by Derek’s densely muscled body. Derek buries his face into his throat and John can feel each deep inhalation his wolf makes and the accompanying shudder as he draws upon his scent for comfort and reassurance. Hushing him, John strokes his hands over Derek’s silky hair and down his back as he softly whispers words of love and safety. The rumble of pleasure that vibrates from deep in his mate’s chest sends a wave of relief through him.

 

Derek’s lips brush over his jaw as they search for his mouth and John sighs contentedly as their lips meet and Derek kisses him with a sweet passion that threatens to consume them both. Heart thundering and panting heavily John watches as Derek licks his lips, eyes darkening as he savours the taste of John upon them.

 

Ducking his head, Derek peers through his lowered lashes, the shy enticement sends a heavy ripple of heat through John’s groin. “I want to…with you, for you…for us.”

 

“That’s good…that’s really good, because I can’t go back now. I can’t go back to a life where you’re not in it, I need you…I need my boy…mmmf.” John’s head tips back as Derek growls excitedly and crushes their mouths together in a forceful heated kiss. The feel of his mate’s naked heavy weight pressing into him, the bare skin under his hands has him blindly searching for the dial on the cooktop to switch it off. A moan rises from his throat at the feel of Derek’s hands slipping under the dual waistbands of his sweatpants and underwear to fondle and cup his ass.

 

The chili will just have to wait for five minutes…fuck, better make that ten he thinks as Derek squeezes his ass possessively.

 

 

 

Derek watches the large flatscreen, not really paying attention as he listens to the steady thump of John’s heartbeat under his ear, his head resting on his Alpha mate’s chest. He’s curled into John on the couch, half on his lap and with one hand clutching at the other man’s shirt revelling in his mate’s touch. John drowsily rubs his hand up and down his arm, the lounge room cosy and warm from the central heating, barely stifling a yawn he brushes his cheek over the top of Derek’s head, scent marking him instinctively.

 

Derek smiles and nuzzles into the warm broad chest. John always makes him feel good and not just in the sexy must-have-you-right-now kind of way. The so obvious way he cares for him is a balm to the emotional wounds that he carries. Now that he’s having therapy and with the increasingly more open and intimate talks he’s had with John, he’s become so much more aware of them, doesn’t try and hide them or ignore them like he has in the past. Sometimes facing them is hard. The hardest thing he’s ever done, but when he comes through the other side of self-examination and reflection with John and Marin’s help, it feels like the weight he’s carried for the longest time is somehow lighter. Not gone, he’s not sure that’s even possible, but definitely lighter.

 

Tonight, during Isaac’s call, when he’d stood in the doorway to the kitchen and listened to John defend him it had felt like he’d stepped out of the shadows and was standing in sunlight. The emotions that had flooded through him then had made his eyes sting with fiercely held back tears. So when John had described him as being ‘strong’ and ‘good’ he’d felt his stomach drop away to plummet somewhere down near his feet. For one moment he’d been so sure that John had been lying, letting his anger say things he didn’t mean, but the unwavering beat of his heart didn’t stutter or race and Derek knew that John was speaking the truth.

 

He’d not been able to control himself, unable to resist going to his mate and wrapping himself around him. There’s such comfort in John’s embrace, the way he looks at him and the way his voice gets low and intimate whenever he speaks to him makes him tremble and fills him with awe that this man loves him like he does. There’s a constant warmth deep in his chest at belonging to someone, being half of a couple, and knowing that there is someone in this world who cares what happens to him and needs his presence in their life to be complete.

 

After their all too brief make out session of kissing and grinding in the kitchen, John had shooed him away to get dressed as he laughingly declared him to be ‘the biggest distraction to making the perfect chili’ and he’d reluctantly pulled his hands out of the other man’s pants. Snuggling on the couch with big steaming bowls of the spicy food and thickly cut slices of fresh baked bread they’d watched the local news report as they ate, as territorial as any wolf John liked keeping up with events in his town, before he flicked it over to the history channel, remembering that Derek had wanted to watch a program on the civil war and Gettysburg.

 

Not that he was taking a lot of it in. The words spoken between them in the kitchen kept replaying in his head. What John had said about him living his life to the fullest had struck a chord, resonating deep within him. Had he been dishonouring his loved ones? If they’d been alive, they would’ve seized every moment, every opportunity and not wasted them in a half-life of guilt and despair he just knew it. Thank God, he’d not been stupid enough to reject the man beside him in some grief and guilt-fuelled notion of self-punishment, denying any happiness for himself.

 

The thought of not having John in his life as he does right now and the simple pleasure he derives just from being near him makes him feel ill.

 

Unable to resist the urge to feel him more intimately, Derek lifts his head from John’s chest and lightly brushes his mouth over John’s.

 

“I love you.” It comes out more shakily than he’d anticipated. The older man’s blue eyes widen in surprise at the uncontrollable throb of emotion in his voice and Derek smiles at him reassuringly, letting his mate know he’s okay. John strokes his cheek gently.

 

“Even though I’m an interfering, old coot sticking my nose in your business when I know I shouldn’t.” There’s a slight edge of worry to John’s voice and Derek can feel the way his mate’s body has tensed up next to him.

 

“I think a protective and mature Alpha defending his mate is more apt.” Derek says lightly, before saying more sternly. “Maybe talk to me first if there’s a next time and I don’t just mean Isaac.”

 

John’s body sags slightly with obvious relief. “Okay.”

 

Derek watches the other man suspiciously. “You’re not sorry though, are you?”

 

“Not really.”

 

“So you wouldn’t change anything, you’d do it again?”

 

“Absolutely.”

 

Derek rolls his eyes at his ridiculously over-protective mate.

 

“You’re my boy.” John declares gruffly as though that says it all and maybe it does. “I’ll do whatever it takes to protect you. You’d do the same for me, much as it would piss me off if you got hurt.”

 

“Absolutely.” He echoes. Derek doesn’t deny it, how can he when there’s a part of him that’s howling in delight at the dominance and power of his mate. A mate who recognises and accepts Derek’s own instincts to protect and possess. Stretching up Derek kisses him again, lingering, feeling a joyful surge of pleasure as John presses back harder, parting his lips and accepting the stroke of Derek’s tongue against his.

 

The kiss quickly becomes heated and hearing John’s muffled moans sends shivers through Derek’s body as he’s tipped back against the couch cushions. John covers him and he welcomes the weight and friction of his mate’s body against his, arms holding him tight as he parts his legs to allow John to slip his thigh in between them. The heavy line of John’s erection rubs against his hip as his hands slip under Derek’s clothes stroking his skin and grasping at his flesh possessively until Derek’s writhing beneath him, burning.

 

He wants so badly, needs to touch and taste his Alpha mate in all the ways he possibly can. The thought doesn’t disturb him anymore, he’s been so worried that his past would taint what he had with John he’s been afraid to act, but the knowledge of how John regards him, thinks well of him regardless of what he’s done is somehow freeing. He’s strong, John thinks so and therefore he is. Somehow he manages to slip out from under his rutting mate who makes a loud grumbling noise of disapproval before sitting up and regarding him curiously from slumberous heavy-lidded eyes as Derek kneels on the floor.

 

“Babe?” John rasps, licking his lips slowly. Derek pushes his chest against John’s knees forcing his legs apart to nestle between his mate’s thighs, hands either side of his mate’s narrow waist, fingers splayed wide in a possessive grip. This close he can see the heavy outline of John’s thick cock beneath the fabric of his sweat pants following the line of his thigh. Midway, a small damp patch about the size of a quarter darkens the fabric where his cock’s started to leak and the spicy scent is so intoxicating that Derek’s nuzzling into his mate’s groin before he can even blink. So lost to the demands of his senses it takes John lifting his chin gently, but firmly with thumb and forefinger for Derek to snap out of the daze and realise he’s talking to him.

 

“What are you doing?” John says raggedly, shifting jerkily in his seat, pinned by the way Derek’s draped over him. Pupils so enlarged that Derek can barely see the blue that’s now his most favourite colour in the world.

 

Scent drunk, he swallows heavily, it takes him a full minute before he can speak and when he does, he doesn’t recognise the raw breathless sound that emerges. “Scenting you…tasting you.” Derek dips his head and lets his tongue flicker out over the damp patch of cotton, before curling it back into his mouth, shuddering at the burst of rich, salty flavour.

 

John’s body goes instantly taut, the damp patch growing visibly larger before Derek’s mesmerized eyes. “You don’t have to.” John chokes out.

 

Derek lets his hands slide down John’s hips and over the tops of his solid thighs feeling the heat of his mate’s body through the soft cotton, thumb nudging the broad head of John’s cock making it twitch, as he partially pushes himself up and presses his mouth to John’s and whispers against his lips “I know, but I want to.”

 

The broken mewling noise that John makes as he frantically pushes his tongue into Derek’s mouth sends sparks shooting down his spine, swiftly followed by a wave of goose bumps at the way John’s strong hands desperately pull and claw at his clothes, searching for bare skin. Dragging himself away from the overwhelming wet heat of John’s kiss is one of the hardest things Derek’s ever done, sitting back on his heels he slowly pulls his t-shirt off all too aware that his hands are shaking uncontrollably. He can’t stop watching John. Can’t stop watching those burning eyes flicker over his body intently.

 

There’s a seductive power in the knowledge that John is entranced by his every movement. How he follows his hands greedily, a rush of ruddy colour highlighting his cheekbones in an instant as Derek pushes the waistband of his sweat pants down his hips and over the hard jut of his weeping cock. Rising slightly to his knees, he pushes them down his thighs and as gracefully as the awkward position allows, he swiftly removes them. Kicking them away, his swollen cock and heavy balls bobbing and swaying with every rocking motion. Sitting back on his heels he lets his hands rest on his splayed thighs, palms up, as he tilts his head back swallowing hard as he exposes the vulnerable line of his throat.

 

The eroticism of the moment isn’t lost on him. He’s never felt more sensual, more aware of himself and his body in his entire life. Naked and kneeling at the feet of his fully clothed Alpha mate has his belly clenching hard and fast with a ravenous desire. The desire to taste his mate fully, breathe in the musky scent of him ripe and humid from his most intimate parts and slake the thirst that dries his tongue and scorches his throat, quench it with John’s come.

 

“God…look at you…look at you my beautiful boy.” There’s such an open expression of raw emotion on John’s face, the love and awe so plain to see and Derek wonders at himself, why this is what makes him blush and not the pure hunger he’d seen earlier? John reaches forward and strokes his fingers delicately over the exposed column of his throat, brushing the tips over his rapidly bobbing adam’s apple to acknowledge his gift, his submission to his Alpha mate. Worry darkens John’s features momentarily. “Are you sure?”

 

“Yes. Let me.” Derek leans forward, placing one hand possessively on John’s knee and looks into his mate’s face and tries to convey everything he can’t seem to say aloud. “Let me.” He says again. “I want to do this. I need to. You told me I’m strong, well I’m not going to live the rest of my life not knowing what you feel like in my mouth or how you taste because I’m afraid to live my life fully.”

 

Understanding lightens John’s expression even as he sucks in a ragged breath, jaw clenching tightly as he visibly fights for control before grinding out. “If you need to stop—“

 

“I know.” Derek says confidently, never doubting that John will always stop if asked, even though he’s fairly certain that he won’t need him to, won’t want him to. Ever.

 

Derek waits, his cock throbbing almost painfully as John holds his gaze for what feels like an eternity before he blinks and when his eyes open again they’re filled with a glittering dark heat that Derek can’t look away from. John reaches behind his neck with one hand and yanks his shirt off, dropping it to the floor. Derek can feel his mouth slacken as he gapes open-mouthed at the virility of his Alpha so blatantly on display, the golden skin and pelt of light hair on his chest, the natural tone and muscle definition of a warrior.

 

It’s not until John slides his hands down his flat belly to the waistband of his sweat pants and starts to push them off that Derek is able to move. He covers John’s hands with his own and holds them there. He doesn’t even need to say aloud what he wants, John is so in tune that he removes his hands almost instantly and lets them rest against the couch cushions on either side of him. Derek doesn’t waste any time in tugging them down John’s legs and off, throwing them to one side.

 

When he looks back, he has to grab his cock and hold it tight at the base as excitement rakes through his groin with deep claws. John’s seated before him completely naked and as he examines every inch of his bared flesh the older man spreads his legs wider like an offering, exposing his most vulnerable parts to Derek’s eager gaze, his mouth flooding almost instantly with saliva.  The older man’s cock lies on his thigh, thick and engorged, flushing an increasingly deeper red as he watches entranced. Little pearl beads of pre-come seep from the slit, dripping onto his leg, leaving a visible connecting strand of fluid. It’s mouth-watering. John’s balls hang low and heavy, a ripeness to them, a virility that he can see and smell that’s dangerously intoxicating, so much that he’s panting hard and fast trying to clear the haze that threatens to completely cloud his mind.

 

“Suck me.” The primal demand, spoken in such a harsh tone of longing and impatience sends prickles of awareness racing over Derek’s skin and it snaps whatever imagined threads of control he thought he had. Lunging forward he wraps his arms tightly around John’s torso letting his hands slide over the smooth skin of his back, stroking and caressing as he presses his face into John’s cock and balls, nuzzling into the most intimate and scent-rich place on his body. The tang of clean sweat and musky semen trapped within the coarser curls of pubic hair and on his skin sends his wolf into a paroxysm of delight and the rumbling growls and whines of pleasure he’d not been aware he was making right until this moment, throttle up another notch, louder and deeper, vibrating powerfully through his chest.

 

Letting his head roll loosely, back and forth, Derek rubs every inch of his face – forehead, cheeks, neck and nose over the hot, silky flesh. The slick glide of pre-come is smeared wetly over his face and lips, anointing him with the very essence of his Alpha mate. John’s back arches violently under his hands as he rocks his pelvis back and forth with his thrusts, grinding his cock into any part of him he can reach. Derek traces the dip and curve of his spine with his fingers, delighting in the play of defined muscle and bone, as he drags them around his ribcage to brush them over John’s nipples, pinching them into tight little nubs.

 

“Please…Derek…please.” John’s voice cracks as his body trembles and Derek feels an aching tug of want deep in his groin making his own cock bounce with the flex, before grasping John’s with shaking hands. Seeing it up close and holding the thick, heavy weight upright, he wonders how it ever fits in his ass, more to the point how the hell is it going to fit in his mouth. John bucks at his touch and seeing the burning hot column of flesh slide between his hands, the thick ooze of pre-come blurting out of the tip and slicking the fat painfully purple head until it glistens wetly, Derek quickly decides he doesn’t care. Wants to choke on it, feel it in his mouth, in his throat so badly it’s like a physical pain not to.

 

Falling upon it hungrily, he swirls his tongue around the knob, over and over, gathering up every drop of fluid and swallowing it down before pointing his tongue to delve into the pulsing slit in the search for more. John’s hoarse gasps of pleasure ring in Derek’s ears as he lets his teeth lightly scrape over his mate’s sex. Closing his eyes Derek focuses on the velvet smooth heat filling his mouth and stretching his lips. It’s so good, so much more than he ever dreamed of he’s on the verge of coming, barely able to hold back.

 

He’s never felt so on the edge, never so lost in the sensations of giving someone head before and the thought of all those previous empty, soul-destroying encounters makes him want to weep and rage and hit something so hard his hands tighten involuntarily, drawing an aching moan from John and then he feels it the lightest most delicate of touches on his cheek. Opening his eyes, he looks up the length of John’s body to meet his steady gaze and the wonder he sees there as John lets his fingers trace almost reverently over where his wide-stretched lips suckle wetly on the thick shaft is devastating.

 

Panting for breath he pulls off drawing a deeper, more wounded noise from John. “Don’t stop…please don’t stop.”

 

Heat washes over him hearing John beg and he strokes the hard length from root to tip, primal satisfaction coursing through his veins seeing the shudder that wracks the older man’s body, the sweat that beads and gleams so brightly on golden skin and the flutter of his eyelids as John struggles to keep them open to watch Derek pleasure him. Leaning forward he licks a long line from John’s perineum over the delicate silky skin of his ball sack and up the shaft to flick at the little cluster of nerve endings below the head. The sounds that John’s making are damn near pornographic and it ratchets up Derek’s arousal to almost unbearable levels knowing that he’s making John feel this way, that he’s making him feel so good.

 

Running his open mouth wetly, up and down either side of the thick shaft, Derek can feel a shaking hand thread through his hair. Trembling fingers tangling in the strands, not trying to control his movements, rather John needing to ground himself in touch…in touching him. The tugging sensation on his hair is electrifying, sending prickling heat over his scalp and he moans into the hot hard flesh, angles the shaft to feed the velvet soft head back into his mouth and slides down. Relaxes his mouth and throat, trying to stuff as much of John’s cock in as he can. At the same time he jacks the lower part of the shaft with one hand and plays with John’s heavy balls with the other.

 

John curls over him with a low whine, never taking his eyes off his cock sliding back and forth between Derek’s lips and through the thundering sound of their racing hearts Derek hears John.

 

“That’s it baby…suck my cock…such a good boy…make me feel so good…God, I love you…you can take me deeper…fuck, there you go.” The words are low and thick with sex, slurred with lust and warm with so much love and affection that Derek can feel a rush of heat sweep up, over his chest and neck to scorch and burn his face and ears with a fiery flush. “Gonna make me come.”

 

Derek’s so attuned to John’s body that he knows the other man’s right. He’s not far off now. His hand starts to rest heavier on the back of his head, not forcing him to accept more than he can, just a steady pressure. John’s lightly furred thighs are trembling and twitching either side of him, tensing every time his body shifts, hips lifting off of the seat as he tries to chase after Derek’s mouth whenever he pulls back within the bobbing motion of his head, like John’s afraid he’s not going to stretch his lips wide and sink back down and let his cock head brush against the back of his throat.

 

Derek swallows deeper and harder each time, his throat feels achy and sore from the stretch, but it’s such a good hurt that he can’t stop. Moisture leaks from the corners of his eyes and mixes with the saliva and pre-come coating his cheeks and jaw, slicking over the shaft for a smooth glide as John starts to fuck his mouth in earnest, his strokes becoming rapidly more and more jerky.

 

“Derek.” John pants his name in warning and Derek can see the contractions start in John’s abs, hard and fast as his belly convulses. John cries out, a guttural sound of relief and raw pleasure. It hits him then that he’s going to have John’s come pumping deep into his mouth for the first time ever and he feels his control slide completely, his claws pop and he can feel the bones in his face shift as his fangs drop just as the first hot burst of his Alpha mate’s seed splashes against the back of his throat. He barely manages to pull off in time, careful not to rake the sensitive vulnerable flesh with his sharp teeth and simply lets the thick knob sit on his outstretched tongue as it pulses over and over as he swallows and gulps the hot fluid down.

 

It’s instinct that has him lifting and directing John’s cock towards his face to mark him in the most intimate and primal of ways. The hot spray of John’s salty, sweet fluid stripes over his cheeks, lips and chin, dripping onto his chest and Derek howls in triumph as his body trembles and shakes as the ever-tightening knot that’s been sitting low in his own groin unravels and shatters with a force that he’s never felt before. Vision hazing to white Derek shudders through his orgasm, balls wrung out with every clenching, gut-wrenching pulse as his cock jerks wildly with each spurt of come and his hole twitches greedily in time until he’s emptied.

 

When the haze of satisfaction lifts, Derek realises his head is resting wearily on John’s hard thigh from where he’s slumped over, the other man’s softening cock sitting in his mouth. Doesn’t even remember when that happened, just thankful that his claws and fangs had retracted first. He’s not even suckling on it, just letting it rest there in the warmth of his mouth. Fingers stroke comfortingly through his hair, untangling the strands and scratching over his scalp leaving a pleasant tingling sensation in their wake. Moaning softly at the tender ministrations, it slips from between his parted lips.

 

The silence is peaceful after the torrent of sensations and feelings that he’s just gone through. **_They’ve_** just gone through he thinks, tilting his head slightly to see his Alpha mate’s beloved face. John’s radiating pure contentment, his face relaxed and his body loose. His hands are strong and gentle as he draws Derek onto his lap, which is a relief for his knees. The smears of come and saliva that coat their skin doesn’t seem to concern John at all and Derek’s grateful that he doesn’t try to clean it up, the mix of their scents is so incredibly good and right, he can’t deny that he would be distressed if John tried to. Derek curls into him, letting the steadily decreasing thud of John’s racing heart lull him into a drowsy, satisfied doze. Only tightening his hold on the other man when he hears John whisper into his hair.

 

“My boy.” The brush of John’s warm lips over his brow makes him sigh. “I didn’t think it was possible to love someone so much.”

 

Derek sits up, straddling John’s thighs, hands resting on the broad shoulders that fill out a tac vest so nicely and distract him constantly at work. Lets his mouth rest on John’s in a light kiss that still makes his lips tingle with heat.

 

“You make me believe.” Derek shakes his head at his own whimsy, lets his forehead rest on John’s, their faces close, breath mingling, noses brushing together. Derek can’t keep in the rumble of happiness that vibrates from deep within his chest.

 

“Believe what?” John asks curiously, hands stroking down Derek’s spine to settle on his hips, holding him in place.

 

“That life is wonderful.”

 

John’s chest expands on a tightly held breath as he absorbs Derek’s words, when he’s finally able to release it in a slow rush he gathers Derek in close to his chest, chin resting on top of his head and simply holds him. Holds him with a strength and tenderness that Derek recognises as home and safety and love.

 

“Yes…yes it is.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Derek go on their first official date, both of them racked with nerves, and it's more romantic and revealing than either of them expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter is huge, but I think it flows better than if I had broken it at an earlier point. That said, this is full of unmitigated fluff because John and Derek deserve it.
> 
> I also had to use Google and some translating sites for the Italian and Polish dialogue - so please forgive me if it isn't correct or a less common form of usage.
> 
> Thank you for all the support I've received for a less than common pairing - very much appreciated.
> 
> Unbeta'ed.

[Fly me to the moon - Frank Sinatra](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QKhcTfskXJ4)

 

“Well, what do you think?” John stands in front of Stiles or rather he stands in front of his laptop which he’s using to Skype with Stiles and get his opinion.

 

“About what?” Considering Stiles has just shoved a handful of corn chips into his mouth as John asks him the question, he counts himself lucky to be able to understand him at all, but then the noisy crunching over the slightly tinny sounding speakers and the miles of distance between them doesn’t counteract 22 years of experience in understanding ALL the sounds and movements that his son makes. Watching Stiles communicate is a ‘whole of body’ interactive experience.

 

“Oh I don’t know, that Aliens really did crash at Roswell, that there was a second shooter on the grassy knoll or maybe I just want my son to give me his opinion on this outfit that his girlfriend overnight expressed to me.” John’s voice rises at the end with maybe just the slightest hint of hysteria creeping in. Tonight’s just got to be perfect and he’s starting to mentally sweat feeling the pressure. Maybe Stiles knows him too well, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully as he swigs down a couple of mouthfuls of soda from the can, swallowing loudly and licking his lips to rid them of the orange dusting of corn chips that rings them.

 

“Yes and yes, all government conspiracies Dad. I wouldn’t be surprised if the government knew about our—“ Stiles dramatically pauses and curls his lips baring his teeth and hooks his fingers into claws looking about as threatening as a rabid koala. “–furry friends.” Wiping at his mouth and chin with the back of his hand before leaning back in his chair and propping his feet up on the desk, a sock clad foot with a vivid pattern of Captain America shields fills the screen almost knocking his son’s laptop off. Stiles just barely manages to save it with a contorted twist and dive which makes John feel vaguely ill watching it through the shaky, jerky pictures he’s receiving.

 

Disappearing from view, Stiles juggles it awkwardly back onto the desk with a triumphant squawk and the sudden extreme close-up of his son’s eyeball on the screen has John’s lips curling in amusement. God, he misses him so much. Settling back into his chair, Stiles ignores his mishap as a non-event and asks with a slight frown “Don’t you trust her? She’s just excited about you finally getting to go out on a date after all the ‘serving and protecting’ you guys have been up to.”

 

John sighs and lets his eyes roll towards the ceiling at the description, it seems too mild for what he and his officers had put up with over the past several months. Ever since they’d smashed the ring of car thieves, Beacon Hills had seemed to throw everything it could at its small law enforcement department. It was one thing after another, from the dangerous - a huge illegal teen rave in an abandoned warehouse in ‘Hellsgate’ that turned into a drug-fuelled riot with two officers sent to the scene receiving minor injuries keeping them off duty for a couple of weeks, to the ridiculous - old Mrs Morrison reporting the theft of her underwear from her washing line by her next door neighbour who she had an ongoing feud with that had lasted the better part of 30 years. The equally as ancient neighbour, Mr Hackett, had cackled in delight, croaking out much to John’s amusement **_‘Justice is served, told you no one in their right mind wants your drawers Gertie’_** when a blushing Parrish had found them still sitting in her washing machine and they realised she’d simply forgotten to hang them out.

 

Between Derek’s ongoing therapy sessions and how busy they were with work he and Derek hadn’t yet had an opportunity to go out on their first date. Half the time they were simply too exhausted from the extra shifts they’d taken on to cover the injured officers and John had been faintly relieved when it had often been Derek that would fall asleep first in front of the tv curled into his side when they’d stumble home, too tired for anything but take out and a quiet night in. The idea of holding Derek back from doing things because of his age and not keeping up still nagged at him like a worrisome toothache.

 

Right now though all he could think of was their date tonight and how it had to be absolutely perfect for his boy because he strongly suspected from things that Derek has let slip over time that it would be the younger man’s first official date ever. “Of course I trust her…I just wonder at how she happens to know my exact size on everything, down to my shoes.” He can feel the heat of a rapidly rising blush on his cheeks as he whispers low and fast. “Damn it Stiles, she even got me underwear.”  

 

Stiles snickers then, warm brown eyes, bright with amusement and John can feel a smile tug at the corners of his own lips at the ridiculousness of it all when he considers what his expression probably looked like when he’d unpacked the boxes and suit bag that had been delivered to his front door and pulled out the designer boxers that had been folded neatly with a pair of fine cotton socks. Black and incredibly soft, the big supportive pouch at the front was so obviously for those that had been very blessed with their equipment or in his case very, very blessed that he’d been slightly mortified at the knowledge that the girl who was more than likely going to be his future daughter-in-law had purchased them with him specifically in mind and had been accurate to boot.

 

“Don’t fight it Dad. Lydia knows what she’s doing and they feel good, right? Huh huh?” Stiles tilts his head, bobbing it back and forth encouragingly, like he knows what he’s talking about and he probably does. John had discovered, after a particularly mortifying conversation when Stiles hit puberty and the school locker rooms revealed that not all boys were equal, that Stiles had inherited the ‘Stilinski over-abundant blessing’ in the downstairs department which had resulted in a lot of teasing, predominantly of the jealous kind. He wonders if that had been the root of a lot of the problems that Stiles had with the young Whittemore boy.

 

Still, John can’t deny it. They do feel good, clinging in all the right places and cupping and holding his cock and balls with a comfort and support he simply wasn’t used to.

 

“Nothing comes between me and my—“ Stiles begins with a gleam in his eye that John recognises as his son heading off on a conversational tangent that was of a totally different trajectory than where John was aiming for.

 

“Stiles.” John interrupts, as he catches a glimpse of the time on the bottom of the screen.

 

“Okay, okay.” Stiles points one finger towards the ceiling, making a twirling motion. “Lets see properly.” John holds out his arms and turns slowly so his son can see the well-cut black pants and fitted silvery blue dress shirt that’s so soft and silky against his skin he wonders if he can persuade the County to get his uniform shirts made out of the stuff rather than the scratchy polyester blend he’s used to.

 

“Oh yeah, my girlfriend has such good taste. You’ll do.” Stiles gives him the thumbs up.

 

“Are you sure? The pants just feel a bit more…snug than what I’m used to.” John fingers the matt black buckle with the silver horizontal line running through it that sits at his waist. Looking in the mirror he’d thought he looked pretty okay for a guy his age, but the doubt was starting to creep in the closer it got to the time he was meant to pick up Derek. The old saying ‘mutton dressed as lamb’ kept popping into his head. Was he trying too hard? Was he embarrassing himself…or even worse Derek?

 

“Turn around.” Stiles asks suspiciously, leaning into the picture. “Damn it.” His son snaps when John turns his back to the screen.

 

“What? What?”

 

“She made your ass look hot.” Stiles obviously sees the disbelief on his face. “Not that it’s too hard…we’re Stilinskis, still I can’t believe she’s done this to me. Not even a warning, knowing that I’m going to see it and that—“ He points at the screen with fluttering hands. “–that is something I can never unsee knowing that you’re going on a date with my best friend and she’s given you a weapon like that.”

 

“Really?” John cranes his head trying to look over his shoulder at his own ass, but it’s impossible. “I’ve got a hot ass?”

 

Stiles huffs in annoyance. “Yes you do. I should’ve known she was up to something.”

 

John smiles happily thinking about Derek checking out his ass and wondering what he’ll think.

 

Stiles snorts. “There…that is exactly why I shouldn’t be the one doing this, not when you get that goofy look on your face when you think about him. It’s almost as bad as the one he gets.”

 

“Hey.” John snarls half-heartedly, face warm with embarrassment, but mostly pleased to know that Derek’s as unable to hide what he feels as he is.

 

There’s movement on the screen just behind Stiles’ shoulder and John gives a smile and a half-wave to a pyjama-clad Lydia as she leans over Stiles, wrapping her arms around his son’s shoulders and rests her chin on the top of his head. Face freshly scrubbed and not a lick of make up and she’s still stunning.

 

“Hi Papa Bear…mwah.” Lydia blows John a kiss and Stiles’ mouth curves into a wide smile as he tilts his head back slightly to see her face and the intimate look that they give each other then makes John’s heart hurt in a good way to know that his son is so very happy and so very well-loved. When they’d first got together he’d been prepared to merely tolerate the young woman, the years of her wilfully ignoring his son’s very existence in the face of his all too obvious infatuation with her hadn’t sat well with him. That she hadn’t been interested back then was her right and he had no problem with that, it was the fact that she couldn’t even be bothered to let Stiles know directly he didn’t have a chance that concerned him the most. Even stubborn as he is, a flat-out, no holds barred rejection would’ve saved his son a lot of pain.

 

When they’d come back to Beacon Hills for the first time after they’d become a couple he’d thought he’d masked his doubt about the lasting durability of their relationship quite well, right up to the moment that Lydia had marched into his office at the station and sat down in the chair in front of his desk with all the regal self-possession of a Queen.

 

**_John doesn’t say a word as he and the very young and very beautiful Lydia Martin sit and simply stare at each other, weighing each other up before Lydia leans forward and places her hand on the edge of his desk. Manicured red nails tapping the wood not in irritation he realises with a start of surprise, but with nerves._ **

****

**_“Stiles loves me.” It’s said so matter-of-factly that John can feel the hackles start to rise and a scowl begin to form on his face. Was she threatening him? Before he can speak, she continues. “I’m not a fool. Not anymore and I like to think I learn from my mistakes, particularly my big ones. Back in High School I was young and stupid and vain…I didn’t see what was right in front of me. Didn’t see the value in a good man, but I do now.”_ **

****

**_The steady conviction that she regards him with almost has him believing her. Almost. He can’t quite let go of the years of watching Stiles fluctuate between joy and despair over every word, every glance that did or didn’t happen from this girl._ **

****

**_“It wasn’t just High School for Stiles, it was from that very first day you walked into his class in Elementary School.” He says severely._ **

****

**_“I know, I know.” She visibly pales in front of him, face taut, green eyes glittering with mixed emotions.  It's unnerving not to see her cloaked in her usual self-confidence. “I used him, used his devotion to make me feel better about myself, but I see him now Sheriff…I see all of him like he’s always seen me. He knows me, more than anyone else ever has - every flaw, every weakness, every hope and he still loves me and I love him. You’d be right to say I don’t deserve him, that I’m not a good person, but he makes me want to be one—“_ **

****

**_John’s chair rocks back as he stands up abruptly and Lydia quickly gets to her feet, he admires that the only giveaway of her uncertainty is the slight flare to her nostrils as her mouth firms into a determined line as she stands her ground. Walking around the desk he hauls her into his arms making her gasp in alarm, holds her tight because this girl, this woman hadn’t been lying in what she’s said. His bullshit detector didn’t ping once. She loves his son with an intensity that’s only rivalled by the way Stiles loves her right back and that’s all John needs to know._ **

****

**_“My son IS a good man and he deserves someone worthy of him and I think he’s found her.” He whispers into the strawberry blonde curls that tickle his nose and hears a faint hiccup of relief as she buries her face in his chest, her small hands fiercely clutching at the back of his shirt with tight fists._ **

 

 

The more he’s been around her, the more he’s come to see exactly what had drawn Stiles to her in the first place. Intelligence, passion and a vulnerability that she hides beneath layers of fashion labels, make up and a cutting tongue. Now he can honestly say he adores her and there’s a different dynamic between them, a more fatherly one which he accepts the mantle of without reservation considering the absent Jeff Martin who thinks a regular bank check is an acceptable substitute in his daughter’s life.

 

“You look so handsome John.” Lydia purrs in approval, tilting her head slightly as she examines him while idly flicking back a stray red curl from the loose knot of hair she wears and John can’t hold back a relieved smile because Lydia isn’t the type to not voice an all-too-truthful opinion when it comes to appearance. “Wait until you see Derek. Promise to take a photo of you two together okay.”

 

John stills at the mention of his boy’s name. “What? When? How did you—“

 

Lydia holds up a hand and laughs delightedly. “He sent me a picture to my mobile to get my seal of approval.” Pulling the phone out of her pyjama pocket she holds it up in front of Stiles’ face. His son’s eyebrows rise and he flashes John a cheeky smile before pursing his lips and letting out a long wolf whistle in appreciation as Lydia nods her head in apparent agreement at the sentiment. “And I approve…definitely approve.”

 

John scowls fiercely at the two of them. “Let me see.”

 

“Nuh uh Dad. You’ll see soon enough.” Stiles sneaks another peek at the phone. “Then again, maybe I should tell Derek to dial it down a bit, you might hurt yourself when you see all that.”

 

John huffs in annoyance, butterflies flittering around in his belly as he tries to imagine what Derek’s wearing which quickly degenerates into how he’s going to take it all off him later tonight which makes his cheeks go hot and his dick twitch behind the zipper of his new pants. It reminds him that he needs to finish preparing if he wants tonight to be extra special for Derek. Coughing gruffly, John thanks the deeply amused couple for their help.

 

Lydia disappears after saying her goodbyes, but before he signs off John pauses, fingers hovering over the keyboard, and Stiles leans forward, concern darkening his eyes.

 

“Dad?”

 

“Thanks for being okay with tonight.”

 

Stiles relaxes and smiles brightly at John. “It’s more than okay. It’s for family and Derek’s definitely family, next time we’re back in town the four of us will go together. Okay? Dom and Pina will love it.”

 

“Yeah. That’s good son, that’s real good.” John swallows hard, emotion nearly strangling him. “Love you kiddo.”

 

Stiles’ face softens. “Love you too Dad.”

 

 

 

Derek checks in the mirror one last time, which is what he’d said to himself the previous dozen times. Straightening the matt black tie clip that holds the dark plum silk tie in place, he likes the contrast between it and the black dress shirt he’s wearing. Stretching his arms out and then bringing them forward to make the muscles in his shoulders and arms bulge he nods satisfied that the grey suit jacket he’s wearing has plenty of room and won’t constrict him in anyway.  

 

He’d brought the suit a week ago near enough straight after John had invited him out to dinner for their first official date so there’s no way it shouldn’t fit. He stills, looking at his reflection, hands running over the fabric, tugging and straightening unable to believe how incredibly nervous he is. They’ve been together for months now, practically living with each other alternating between John’s home and Derek’s loft, and the sex…he swallows roughly as he remembers how good John always makes him feel, there’s really no reason for him to feel so on edge like this.

 

He spies the coil of leather on his bed behind him. Should he put the belt back on? His stomach flip flops indecisively and the thought of putting something so constricting around his waist makes him wince. Admittedly, he had been wearing it when he’d sent the photo to Lydia and she’d given him a 10/10 for his outfit in reply, but the longer he’d prowled through the loft afterwards waiting for John to arrive it had felt tighter and tighter and he’d ended up frantically stripping it off.

 

The beeping noise from his pants pocket makes him jump, startled, he rolls his eyes derisively at his image in the mirror. Fishing his phone out Derek hesitates before swiping his thumb over the screen. What if John’s cancelling? What if John’s changed his mind about the whole ‘being together’ thing? Something deep in his chest shrivels slightly at that thought.  Telling himself to stop being an idiot Derek opens the message. A huff of relief escapes his parted lips when he sees it’s from Lydia.

 

Lydia 6.55pm

_Wow - just seen John on skype. Remember to breathe when you see him. Enjoy your date. L xoxo_

The rumbling growl of jealousy that vibrates through his chest shocks him with its intensity. The possessive instinct that didn’t want anyone else seeing how handsome and powerful his Alpha mate is and therefore making them a potential threat to their relationship is so strong he’s not totally surprised to see that he’s half-wolfed out. Eyes glowing electric blue, his fangs dropped and his nose slightly broader, it takes a surprising amount of concentration to calm his wolf. His rational side knows that Lydia has no interest in John beyond that of being Stiles’ father, but convincing his more primal self is another matter.

 

It’s not until he hears a firm knock on the front door that he realises how much time has passed, John’s here and Derek strangely enough hadn’t sensed him at all considering he was so lost in the wolf. Flicking a glance to the mirror he’s relieved to see that he’s back to his human appearance.

 

Derek feels his palms start to sweat as he makes his way to the entrance of the loft. Where will John take him? Will he like what he’s wearing? He pulls back the heavy sliding door and wonders if—

 

It’s like a punch to the gut, a blow to the chest, a vision that sears its way into his heart and his memory to permanently etch itself there. He can’t think. He can’t breathe.

 

John is…John looks… ** _JohnJohnJohn_**.

 

Derek’s heart thumps almost painfully in his chest as he examines his Alpha mate from head to toe. John’s dressed in an exquisitely cut black suit, the lines of which enhance his broad chest and shoulders perfectly. The pants stretch over powerful, lean thighs and he swallows with difficulty as he eyes the fabric that softly drapes over the bulge at John’s groin. The tailoring is subtle in the way it cups and tantalisingly hints at what lies underneath. His mouth instantly starts to water and the urge to drop to his knees before the older man is undeniably tempting.

 

“Look at you.” John’s hoarse whisper draws Derek’s eyes upwards over the ice blue silk shirt to the vulnerable hollow of his mate’s throat exposed by the open buttons at the collar and lack of tie. There’s a satisfaction and a relief in seeing the dazed, hungry look in John’s vivid blue eyes as he stares back, apparently equally as entranced by Derek’s appearance as Derek is with John’s.

 

“Keep looking at me like that and we won’t be going anywhere.” John rasps gruffly.

 

Derek shakes his head trying to clear it of the intoxicating fog of arousal that their mingling scents has created. There’s a baseline of something less than natural in John’s, an underlying taint of something manufactured…lube he thinks. God knows that Derek’s had to pump a few out on his own since he and John got together because his mate turns him on so damn much, so it’s only annoying in the fact it denies him the full heady effect of John’s clean musky scent.

 

Derek starts to speak, coughs as his voice cracks, but finally manages to get out “You look amazing.”

 

John rubs the back of his neck as a faint blush stripes over his cheekbones. “All Lydia.” He mumbles.

 

“All you.” The startled, but pleased expression that crosses John’s face at that comment makes Derek’s wolf preen at making his Alpha mate happy.  

 

John shifts his feet and Derek glancing down sees that in John’s other hand is a gift wrapped box. “Is that…” He points at the flat box before trailing off uncertainly, there’s no reason to think that John’s brought him a present, they’re grown men after all, but still Derek can’t contain the little flutter of pleasure in his chest at the idea.

 

“Yes…yes, it’s for you. Just a little something.” The colour in John’s cheeks burns brighter than the vibrant red ribbon that’s tied around the gold wrapping paper as he holds the box out. The smile that stretches Derek’s mouth feels almost painfully wide and he hopes that his front ‘bunny teeth’ that Laura delighted in tormenting him about aren’t too prominent as he takes the present and just holds it for a moment, savouring the happiness that it represents.

 

Letting a claw emerge from his fingertip, Derek gently slices the gift paper open and smiles in delight at the box of Godiva nut and caramel chocolates that’s revealed. Even though his senses had already detected the rich, lush scent of chocolate he’s still surprised that John knows his favourites and as though in answer to his unspoken question John says softly “It’s no secret you’ve got a sweet tooth, that stash in your desk drawer is a dead giveaway, but I noticed you like the nutty ones in particular.”

 

That John’s been paying attention to his likes and dislikes sends a rush of warmth throughout his whole body and before he’s even thought about it Derek steps forward and kisses him. Kisses him soft and sweet, dimly aware that John’s hands have slipped down to grip his hips. The heat that always simmers between them flares and John presses his mouth harder against Derek’s for one brief instant before drawing back with a sigh of regret and licks his lips, lets his forehead rest against Derek’s as they both take a shaky breath trying to regain control.

 

“Much as I love the way you say thank you, if we don’t stop now…” John groans, shuddering faintly as he reluctantly lets go of Derek’s hips, fingertips lingering over the fabric of Derek’s pants as he steps back.

 

Derek nods, mouth dry and vocal chords seemingly paralysed as the seductively entwined scents of their arousal batter at his control. Placing the box of chocolates on the side table next to the door before they leave, amusement curls his lips into a wry smile when he sees the packaging is kinda crushed now with some very distinct puncture marks.

 

John keeps a little distance between their bodies as Derek locks up and they silently make their way down to where he’s parked his SUV on the street. John’s ass draws his eyes as they walk down. He’s always enjoyed checking it out, but for some reason tonight he can’t stop looking at the way the pert rounded curves peek-a-boo tantalisingly at him from beneath John’s jacket and he has to really concentrate to stop his cock from going beyond semi-hard.

 

It’s not until they’re actually on their way that the heat in Derek’s groin abates as much as it ever does around his mate to something even close to tolerable.  John winces as he sits down in the driver’s seat, fidgeting restlessly in his seat trying to get comfortable, Derek wants to ask if he’s hurt – pulled a muscle or strained something, but he knows John is sensitive about the age difference and keeps quiet, deciding to keep an eye on his mate instead. Eventually, John’s shoulders relax somewhat and he starts to talk about general things and the conversation flows as easily as it usually does. So much that Derek’s a little surprised when they all too quickly pull into a parking spot a couple of doors down from an Italian restaurant on the east side of downtown that he knows only by reputation.

 

Derek gapes, impressed despite himself, John’s going all out on this date and the pleased smirk his Alpha mate wears lets Derek know he’s well aware of it. _‘La Buono Vita’_ is an authentic traditional Italian restaurant which has won numerous awards and is practically impossible to get a table for without booking months in advance.   He recognises the couple that have just entered ahead of them as the Mayor and his wife. That John’s brought him here where everyone can see them has Derek’s chest puffing out with pride. John takes his hand, leading him to the entrance and Derek lets his fingers slot between John’s, a tremor of excitement coursing through him as their skin touches.

 

“We’re going to meet some very important people that I want to introduce you to.” John says with a wide smile and Derek feels his stomach plummet with a suddenness that makes him feel ill. The Sheriff election is months away, but Derek knows that the work on John’s campaign has to start much earlier with lots of political manoeuvring and planning. That John’s combined their first date with some business shouldn’t make him feel so bad, because he wants John to do well, of course he does, he wants him to win, but the disappointment that sits achingly within his chest hurts enough that he whines faintly under his breath.

 

“Hey…hey are you okay?” The concern on John’s face is some small comfort and Derek smiles in what he hopes is a reassuring manner, but it feels brittle. He can do this, it’s for John.

 

“Yeah…just nervous.” Derek whispers, wincing inwardly at the catch in his voice.

 

John studies him for a moment, his expression softening and he reaches up to gently cup Derek’s jaw, brushing a thumb over his cheekbone, and Derek can’t resist nuzzling into the large work-roughened hand of his mate absorbing John’s comforting scent into his skin.

 

“I’ve got ya.” John squeezes his hand and Derek feels slightly better.

 

The restaurant for all its awards and high star rating is surprisingly warm and welcoming with solid rustic wooden chairs of aged dark wood, pristine white table cloths and the gleam of polished cutlery and sparkling glasses that reflect the glow from the flickering candles at the centre of each table. The paintings on the wall are a curious mix of Italian countryside and what he instantly recognises as New York streetscapes that surprisingly blend well together. Inhaling deeply, Derek absorbs the mouth-watering aroma of herbs and spices, fresh baked bread, slow cooking meat and the full-bodied richness of red wine.

 

It’s a heady combination, not enough to distract him though, he’s aware the buzz of conversation doesn’t pause as they enter. Derek can’t see anyone giving them any excessive attention and he doesn’t hear anything about them either which is a relief because as much as he wants to be seen as John’s he doesn’t want their relationship to damage everything that John’s worked so hard for. Even though John reassures him times have changed and if anyone’s got a problem with them being together they can bring it to him and be brought into the 21st century pretty damn smart.

 

The maitre d’ greets John with a warm familiarity that’s unexpected, not even glancing at his booking sheet, and asking about Stiles and Lydia with a knowledge that makes Derek instantly reassess the other man and his relationship to the Stilinskis. The man’s in his early to mid-twenties with dark good looks, olive skin and milk chocolate eyes that flicker curiously over Derek with enough blatant appreciation that he feels a blush start to warm his cheeks and has John scowling.

 

“Back off Paolo, he’s mine.” John points at the other man with a wag of his finger, who pouts for a split-second before giving his Alpha mate a cheeky smirk and Derek a wicked wink. The pleasure that ripples through Derek at being so publicly claimed has him grinning uncontrollably at his mate.

 

“Wow.” Paolo says softly, his expression curiously dazed to Derek’s eye until John coughs pointedly. “Yes…yes. Of course Sheriff. Your usual table’s ready and Mama and Papa are out in the kitchen.”

 

John nods and draws Derek forward, his hand resting lightly on Derek’s back as he guides him through the maze of tables. It’s only when they start to move that the soft music playing in the background is getting more and more difficult to hear with the deafening pounding of his heart echoing with a rapid bass ‘thud thud’ in his ears.

 

Swallowing hard he realises that John’s set them on a direct path to where the Mayor and his wife are sitting with another couple he doesn’t know personally, but recognises the woman as the Sacramento DA, and another two empty chairs. He can do this, he can sit there with those people and try and make polite small talk while they judge him, while they judge John for being with him. It’s for his mate and for him, he’ll do anything.

 

His mind might be on board, but his body lags behind. It feels like his feet lose traction with every hesitant step, so when John nudges him past their table with the barest nod of acknowledgement that borders on rudeness to Mayor Andrew Jackson Whittemore and his wife Rebecca, it takes all of his supernatural agility not to stumble and fall in a heap.

 

When he hears John mutter ‘Asshole’ under his breath once they’re out of earshot, a slightly breathy hysterical snicker rattles free from his suddenly looser chest, the tight band that had strangled the very breath out of him disappearing as rapidly as it had first appeared.  

 

There’s an empty half-circle booth at the back of the restaurant with a couple of others in a more private, shadowed alcove. The dark red leather of the curving well-padded bench seat looking soft and worn, a ‘reserved’ sign sits prominently in the middle of the table. Relief washes over Derek as he realises that **_this_** is their table. Just for them.

 

Derek frowns, angry at himself. Furious that he’d been so quick to doubt John and the commitment to them as a couple that he’s shown over and over again. Why does he keep doing it? Why is it so hard to believe that John loves him? If it’s even half as much as Derek loves John then he considers himself one hell of a lucky man.

 

“Babe.” Derek’s attention snaps to his Alpha mate. The worry in John’s piercing blue eyes darkens and mutes their brilliance and guilt rolls nauseatingly in his belly. “If this is too much we can—“

 

“No. No.” Derek rasps out desperately. He’s ruining this, ruining this perfect evening, but isn’t that what he does? Destroys everything that’s good until he’s left with nothing but ashes. Sucking in a deep shaky breath he releases it in a slow steady exhale. Tries to concentrate on his breathing exercises. Once, then twice, then again until the muscles in his body are no longer tight with the urge to run.

 

Fight or flight. It’s a powerful primal instinct. When he looks down at their still joined hands and feels the strength in John’s warm hold he can hear Marin’s voice in his head from his last session **_‘you are worthy of loving and being loved in return’_** , he remembers Stiles giving John the ‘shovel’ talk for him, the supportive text that he received from Lydia that very evening and there’s simply no choice. They love him and he can’t deny that he loves them back. Loves his family, loves his pack and his Alpha Mate with everything he is. He straightens, standing tall, pulling his shoulders back. He will fight for John, even if that fight is against himself and his doubts and fears not just because he loves him, but because he can’t imagine being without him, without being loved by him.

 

“I’m good. Just a little overwhelmed.” He leans forward and brushes his lips over John’s, hears the little gasp that the older man makes as he lets his teeth gently nip his mate’s lower lip before he draws away with a teasing sweep of his tongue. Satisfaction roars through his whole body as John’s scent becomes thick with arousal, he can hear his wolf howling in triumph. “But, it’s okay ‘cause I’m with you.”

 

The look John gives him then is scorching, makes his pants feel suddenly too tight as he swallows hard at the promise he sees in their depths.

 

“I want to introduce you to some old friends of mine.” John rasps in a gravelly drawl that sends a prickling, shivering wave of awareness from Derek’s scalp and across his shoulders and down his arms to the tips of his fingers that tingle at the sensation. They twitch uncontrollably as John slips his hand into his and leads him to the discreetly concealed double doors to the kitchen.

 

The clatter of pans, hiss of gas flames and the bubbling rush of steam rising from a number of pots is loud, but not as loud as the short older man shouting orders and giving directions to the kitchen staff with passionate intensity flavoured with what Derek instantly recognises as a New York accent. He looks to be in his late fifties with a face mapped out with laugh lines, his eyes are the same chocolate brown as that of the maitre d’ and Derek’s pretty sure this must be ‘Papa’. Even though he’s watching everything going on in his kitchen and shooting out orders he seems to be also listening to a slightly taller woman of a similar age standing beside him, her figure round and soft, dark hair pinned up off the nape of her neck in the steamy heat of the kitchen.

 

When she finally notices them standing in the doorway, her plump pretty face glows with the brilliance of her smile, cheeks red and rounded.

 

“John.” She calls to him happily and before Derek knows what’s happening he’s barely restraining a warning growl, choking on it as it rumbles low in his throat, as John’s wrapped in her lush embrace, both cheeks being kissed affectionately as she squeezes the breath out of his mate. “Dom…Dom look who it is.”

 

The tension in his gut at a potential threat to their mating slowly eases as Derek scents the air and finds no trace of arousal coming from the woman.

 

The chef wipes his hands quickly on the cloth draped over his shoulder and with a smile just as open and friendly as the woman’s, he too embraces John as though they’ve not seen each other for years, loud smacking kisses on both of John’s increasingly red cheeks. His mate gives him a narrow-eyed glare and Derek thinks he probably should’ve hidden the amused smile that John’s embarrassment has drawn out of him. Eventually, John’s able to free himself and reaches out to grab Derek’s hand and draw him into his side, his arm slipping comfortably around Derek’s waist

 

“Dom, Pina. I’d like to introduce you to Derek Hale.” John makes the introductions and Derek thrusts out his hand hoping a handshake will placate them, but to no avail as he’s similarly drawn into an enthusiastic welcoming embrace with the couple. The wolf baulks and ripples uncomfortably within him at the touch of non-pack. Whether his Alpha Mate picks up on his unease or he simply wants to, John slips his hand under the back of Derek’s jacket, his mate’s touch seeping through the silk of his shirt. It’s a claim that soothes him, the warmth and possessiveness of that large hand resting low on his spine the only thing that stops his wolf from rising. “Derek, this is Domenic and Giuseppina Conti, the owners of La Buono Vita and my very good friends.”

 

Pina cups Derek’s cheeks with soft hands that smell of ripe tomatoes and the pungency of parmesan cheese, making his nose twitch, as she tilts his head from one side to the other.

 

“Very nice…so handsome.” She winks at Derek so wickedly he can feel heat bloom on his cheeks instantly and he can tell where Paolo gets his mischievousness from.

 

“Would you like to check my teeth too?”

 

Pina ignores his tartness, laughing heartily. “Good, good.” She slaps him firmly on the belly. “There’s a fire in here, better watch out John.”

 

“You’re embarrassing him.” Dom nudges at her with his elbow, before lifting a sly eyebrow at John. “Always the beautiful ones for you.”

 

Pina tuts at Dom as she whispers under her breath to him. _“Bella non significa che egli non ferire John.”_ (Beautiful doesn’t mean he won’t hurt John).

 

 _“Non avevo mai male di lui.”_ (I’d never hurt him). Derek’s aware of the startled looks on all their faces as he replies in perfectly accented Italian, but he doesn’t care, only cares that these people who are apparently important to John know that the man is simply too precious to him to ever consider hurting.

 

Dom holds his gaze intently. _“Egli non ha mai portato qualcuno qui prima, non poiché…sua moglie.”_ (He’s never brought someone here before, not since…his wife).

 

There’s no flutter to the other man’s heartbeat, no skip or hitch to the steady pulse of it that Derek can hear with startling clarity, he’s listening so closely. It’s the truth and Derek’s not ashamed to admit he’s confused, not sure whether to be pleased or hurt by the revelation.

 

“Hey…hey now. Speak in English please.” John’s tone is light, but if Derek had any doubt that he knows they’re talking about him it’s gone instantly at his mate’s forbidding expression, the rebuke clearly directed at all of them. Derek lowers his eyes to the floor at the flash of annoyance he sees in his Alpha mate’s blue ones, his submissiveness only lasts so long when he considers that John’s not told him anything about this restaurant or his family’s history with it and his jaw tightens and he lifts his gaze. John’s observing him closely, a flicker of concern crosses his features instantly erasing the previous annoyance.

 

“Sorry John. That was unforgivably rude, we just got excited that your friend speaks Italian so fluently.” Dom apologises, Pina nodding her head in agreement, eyes wide and worried as she pats John’s arm drawing his attention, thankfully, away from Derek.

 

“Okay.” John says eventually, face softening. “What would you recommend for tonight?”

 

 

Derek slides across the leather bench seat and puffs out a breath of air as he watches John slide in next to him. After the initial wariness, the last ten minutes have been a blur with the whirlwind of enthusiasm that is the Conti’s as they’d laughed and chatted in the kitchen with a joyousness that had left Derek spinning. Wine had been poured, cheeses sampled and sauces tasted as the older couple had argued good-naturedly back and forth over what they should order for their meal.

 

“So…Italian huh?” John says breaking the quiet as they both catch their breath.

 

“Yeah…among others.”

 

John stares, an eyebrow lifting. “How did I not know this and how many others?”

 

“No idea, it was in my resume and eight.” He can’t help but chuckle over the way John’s eyes widen in surprise and admiration. “My Dad knew ten, he helped me learn the first couple and after…I went to night classes in New York once I passed my GED. Mainly the European languages - French, Spanish, Greek, Russian, German and the only Asian one, Japanese. More recently…Polish.”

 

John stills, like he’s hardly daring to breathe. _“Dla mnie.”_ (For me).

 

 _“Tak dla ciebie.”_ (Yes for you). Derek ducks his head, suddenly shy at the intensity that blazes from John’s very being towards him. John slips two fingers beneath Derek’s chin and gently guides his gaze upwards until all he can see is blue. Blue eyes that are regarding him with such tenderness that he can’t believe he ever once thought that colour was like ice when all he can see now is how warm and inviting they are.

 

 _“Jestes niesamowity.”_ (You’re amazing). It’s as much the husky tone that makes Derek blush as what John says. They sit quietly for a moment and Derek’s not thinking anything as such, more cataloguing the way his body is feeling. The rush of blood through his veins that makes the pulse in his throat throb rapidly to the tickling sensation that sits deep in his belly, pleasure unfurling in increasingly larger tendrils throughout his whole body. John affects him so powerfully and he willingly acknowledges that this man is both his strength and his weakness and Derek never wants it to end.

 

“They’re good people.” John pours cold water in both of their glasses from the bottle on the table and Derek can feel him watching his every move as he lets his fingers slide over the chilled glass, drawing patterns in the condensation.

 

“Yeah I got that.” Derek smiles at John, knowing he’s talking about the older couple. “You’ve known them a long time.”

 

John nods. “Years now, before—“ He stops abruptly, mouth turning down in a pained grimace and looks away, but not before Derek’s seen the flash of guilt that tightens his mate’s features.

 

Derek reaches across the snowy white field of the table cloth and slides his hand over John’s, letting his fingers slot in between the other man’s. “It’s okay, you can say her name…before Claudia. Don’t ever think you can’t with me.”

 

The corners of John’s lips curl up slightly and he squeezes Derek’s hand. “Before Claudia.” He repeats huskily. “Dom had some money stolen that he was going to use to open this place up and I helped get it back, so when the restaurant finally opened Dom and Pina invited us to dinner as a thank you. It became a fairly regular thing after that and even when Claudia was gone, Stiles and I kept coming back.”

 

Derek’s pretty sure there’s a lot more to that tale than John’s revealing, but he lets it go, content to listen and feel John’s thumb stroke his.

 

“Those first weeks after Claudia passed…thank God for Pina and Melissa. They looked after us. Mel got Stiles to school…helped me sort out things as executor of Claudia’s will and Pina brought around food we could put in the freezer. You can see what a force of nature Pina is…she wouldn’t let me give it back or pay for it. She wouldn’t let Stiles or I not eat.” The pain and guilt that flickers across his handsome face then makes Derek’s chest tighten painfully in understanding as he recalls his and Laura’s own lack of appetite and issues with food after the fire.

 

“I’m glad you had someone looking out for you…for both of you. It’s clear that they adore Stiles.” The older couple’s scents had been rich in affection as they spoke to John about his son, provoking a sub-vocal rumble of acceptance from Derek’s wolf to vibrate through his torso. It had been easier to be around them after that with his wolf recognising them as pack allies, unwitting though it may be, and he’d made a conscious effort to talk to John’s friends, conscious that his mate was watching him with such visible pride and warm approval that Derek was almost giddy with pleasure.

 

John laughs and Derek’s chest loosens in delight at the sound. “Definitely. That son of mine, even though he’s a sarcastic little shit at times, he seems to be able to worm his way into people’s hearts.”

 

“That he does.” Derek huffs, thinking back to all the times he’d threatened the younger man to stay away and yet he’d still never given up on him, had saved him multiple times and dared to call him friend. “He doesn’t take no for an answer at all.”

 

John snorts. “I don’t think ‘no’ is in his vocabulary.”

 

Derek laughs, meeting and holding John’s eyes that glitter with amusement in the candlelight and it feels like falling. He’s drawn in, lost within those clear blue pools that regard him with a depth of emotion that makes him shiver with longing and he’s sucked into those depths, pleasantly drowning. When he surfaces Derek discovers that somehow, one or both of them has moved without him being aware of it. Derek feels the heat of John’s thigh pressing along the length of his and it feels like every other part of his body that isn’t touching John’s is cold…freezing in comparison and all he wants to do is sink into that warmth and wrap it around him.

 

“Is it…is here okay for our first date?” The way that John draws his lower lip in to nip it between his even white teeth while he’s thinking has Derek mesmerized. He can’t look away. It’s a familiar Stilinski trait, only with this man it makes Derek shift restlessly in his seat, the urge to draw that lip in between his own teeth instead is a struggle to resist. “You’re not disappointed are you…I don’t want you to think I’m being morbid or that I couldn’t be bothered to go anywhere else, I just wanted to share this with you. It’s a special part of my past…mine and Stiles’, we’ve always considered this place as something ours, something only for family…and you and Lydia, you’re part of this family now too.”

 

Shaking his head, Derek wonders is it him or is it John, but it feels like the other man’s getting closer and closer. Hot breath ghosts over his cheek making him shiver and he can’t ignore the way John’s knee nudges his more and more insistently.

 

“Yes…yes it’s okay.” He’s conscious that John makes an audible sigh of relief, the hand holding his tightens almost painfully. “I want to share things with you too John, everythi…umpf—“

 

John’s lips are on his and Derek’s eyelids flutter closed. His mate’s arm wraps around him, drawing him so close their chests are awkwardly angled and pressed together. John slips his other hand free of Derek’s to press his palm to the thundering pulse at Derek’s throat, his fingers stretching up to caress the line of his jaw and the lobe of his ear, holding him in place as the kiss simmers between them. It’s a slow burn of love and desire that fills his chest, sears his lips and swells his cock.

 

Derek’s hand drops weakly from the table onto John’s thigh and his mate groans into his mouth rocking his hips into his touch as Derek’s fingertips brush over the inner seam of his pants.

 

“Gentlemen, here is your entrée…woah.”

 

Derek pulls back reluctantly, wolf smug at the sight of his flushed and dazed mate panting heavily beside him, before flicking an annoyed glare towards Paolo who is grinning at John like a crazy man and waggling his eyebrows wildly in apparent approval.

 

“Don’t let me stop you.” He says as he places a large antipasto platter with meats, cheeses and olives in front of them and hovers for a moment almost expectantly. The unmistakeable scent of masculine musk radiates from the younger man as he looks at John, Derek can feel his upper lip curl into a snarl as a savage growl threatens to tear itself free from his throat. John must pick up on his tension though, shifting slightly so his thigh presses harder into Derek’s.

 

“Do you mind?” John’s expression is stern and uncompromising.

 

“Hell no.” Paolo’s eyes dart back and forth between them, but when there’s obviously no further ‘action’ happening between them he sighs heavily. Turning away with visible disappointment and a muttered unrepentent ‘Damn it’ under his breath.

 

“Sorry about that.” John brushes his shoulder against Derek’s, a gesture of comfort and togetherness as he marks his scent, something that he’s been doing more naturally, almost instinctively, ever since Derek had explained the importance of scent to his wolf.

 

“What for?”

 

“I don’t like it when people only see your outside.” Frowning John leans forward. “And, what’s the word…objectify you. ‘Cause much as I love how you look, I love who you are more. They don’t know the person you are. They don’t know you’re my boy.”

 

Derek feels a tug deep in his chest and groin at John’s words, instinctively letting his head tip to one side and baring his throat to his Alpha mate. Hearing John claim him as ‘his boy’ is always comforting, makes him feel safe and protected, that he’s loved and valued for himself. Somewhat calmer, Derek stares down at the gleaming white plate in front of him.

 

“I don’t think it was just me he was objectifying.”

 

“What?” John croaks, before lifting his hand to his face and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Hell…I’m not even going to go there. I’m pretty damn sure 28 year old gorgeous deputies are my limit.”

 

“Well as long as you’re **_damn sure_**.”

 

“That I am.” John drops his hand and flashes him an amused smile that has his breath hitching. The older man snags a piece of prosciutto from the platter, rolling it haphazardly and presses it to Derek’s lips. “Enough of that. Tonight’s about us…now open up and try this, you’re going to love it.”

 

Derek opens his mouth and lets John feed the piece to him, the rich salty flavour hits his tongue, but his hungry sigh of approval is more for the way John’s fingers delicately brush over his lips making them tingle than the food itself.

 

“Good, right?” John murmurs, selecting another piece and popping it into his own mouth.

 

Derek nods his head. “Yeah, it’s good. It’s all good.”

 

 

 

It’s been a perfect romantic evening. Their first date, Derek’s first real date, has been so much more than he ever anticipated. Being with John is always a pleasure. Simply sitting next to the man is more stimulating – intellectually, physically and emotionally – than with any other person he’s known. Their conversation isn’t forced or hurried, spanning a number of subjects from the frivolous - the number of cute funny kitten videos that Scott compulsively forwards to everyone in the pack, to the more serious – the upcoming elections for the State’s Governor and then beyond to the more personal, Derek has to blink rapidly when John grabs his hand and holds it against his cheek, whispering into his palm how happy he is…how happy Derek makes him. How he wants it forever.  

 

He loves that his strong, commanding mate feels comfortable enough to show this other side, one that is tender and passionate, teasing and protective. He’s seen frequent glimpses of it before, but tonight John is so freely and openly affectionate, constantly touching him like a wolf and seeking kisses like a lover, listening to him so attentively that Derek feels somewhat dazzled when he realises that his Alpha Mate is skilfully and successfully wooing him.

 

With such delicious food, Derek’s left sated and with no doubt as to why Dom and Pina’s restaurant has won so many awards. After the antipasto which they’d shared - delighting in feeding each other from the platter, fingers brushing over each other’s lips, teasingly dipping into open mouths and pressing olives and cheeses against the edge of blunt human teeth and the occasional excited drop of fang - their main courses were brought to their table by Dom and Pina themselves.

 

John’s eyes had narrowed and burned darkly at Derek’s audible groan of pleasure as the ravioli had melted in his mouth making him blush hotly and John’s saltimbocca…his mouth waters as he remembers how tender the veal had been, at how his mate had carefully fed him, slipping the tines of his fork gently into Derek’s mouth. The older couple had beamed, visibly pleased at his reaction.

 

An old song starts to play in the background as they finish drinking the rich aromatic coffee which accompanied their dessert, the cannoli pastry crisp and sweet and the vanilla custard filling smooth and creamy. John smiles fondly as he leans in towards Derek.

 

“My babcia would take care of me when I was a kid after school. She’d let me help her make racuchy…it’s like a pancake or crepe with apples in it and she’d always play Sinatra when she was cooking.” John laughs and Derek aches at the care-free sound his mate makes. “She was a Polish grandmother so that was all the time and if it wasn’t him then it was Tony Bennett, but this one…this song was her favourite.”

 

Nuzzling into his neck, John’s lips brush over his ear leaving a trail of sparks as his nerve endings ignite and his mate starts to sing softly in a surprisingly good baritone _‘Fly me to the moon, let me play among the stars…’_ John punctuating the lyrics with gentle nibbling kisses to Derek’s earlobe, mouth and chin, lingering along his jawline until Derek’s certain his eyes are rolling back in his head, half-delirious with pleasure. _‘You are all I long for, all I worship and adore.’_

 

Derek quivers in his seat, flushed and breathless, as the song reaches its climax and John’s voice trails away, the last line and the final notes ringing in his ears _‘I love you’_. John slowly draws back, sits for a long moment, simply staring. Derek can’t move, can’t speak, there’s such warmth in the way his mate is looking at him that Derek feels like he will never be cold or lonely ever again.

 

“Come home with me.” John’s voice is sure and strong, but it’s not an order or a command, it’s an invitation. One that Derek knows he could refuse if he wanted to, not that he did.

 

“Yes.” If he could click his heels and get home this very moment by magic he would. He needs to be with John…needs to feel his body against his, skin to skin. Needs to feel him deep inside filling him with his seed, his cum.  

 

John quickly throws some notes onto the table, including a generous tip for Paolo, before extending his hand to Derek as they slide out of the booth. Feeling that large safe hand wrap around his, Derek feels like he’s floating, that he’s well and truly ‘playing among the stars’ like Frank sang about. As they make their way through the main floor of the restaurant, John keeps looking back over his shoulder at him like he can’t believe he’s there, Derek’s blind to all else, can’t see beyond those blue eyes or hear anyone but his mate. Not even when John gets held up at the table with the Whittemores, the Mayor clearly not happy at being practically snubbed earlier, and they are introduced to the DA and her husband and then to Congressman Michael Reynolds and his grandson, Carter, who were obviously the missing third party to their table when they’d first come in.

 

Because he’s paying such close attention to John, Derek’s aware of how he stiffens warily as he’s introduced to the group. He’s even more aware of the way that his Alpha mate moves to stand protectively in front of him, blocking his view. There’s something not right, but he can’t pick up what it is. All he knows is that John’s scent has sharpened to something acidic which usually means he’s gone beyond angry straight onto downright furious, his hand gripping Derek’s tight and possessive.   Whatever it is, John doesn’t linger at the table and rushes them on past so he barely has a few seconds to see them, manoeuvring around him so that he’s at Derek’s back as though he’s deliberately placing himself between Derek and the occupants of the table. As though there’s a threat.

 

The Whittemores look as disdainful as ever, no surprises there. He’s pretty sure they regard he and John as the hired help. The DA and her husband seem friendly enough, open smiles, and he doesn’t detect anything untoward in their scent, it’s fairly neutral. Congressman Reynolds is a handsome man, silver hair at his temples, slightly soft around his middle and aggressive with his handshakes like he’s going to the polls at any minute. Probably ten to fifteen years older than John, he’s nowhere near as compelling as Derek’s Alpha mate, he doesn’t have the authority that John carries in his bearing naturally. The grandson, Carter Reynolds, is older now that Derek’s closer, probably around his own age, not the College jock he first thought with his model good looks and neatly trimmed blonde hair.

 

What catches Derek’s attention is the way that he’s focused on John, watching him warily, much like prey watches a predator that’s too close for comfort. It’s a seemingly unconscious gesture when Carter draws his hand up to his shoulder and massages it like it’s paining him, although there’s no trace of pain in the man’s too-sour scent, he never takes his eyes off John for a moment as he does it. When the other man eventually turns to him Derek sees the fearful sneer change to a smirk of such smug confidence that it instantly irritates as does the stomach-churning burst of arousal that smacks him brutally in the face. No, not arousal, this is a lust that feels obscene, that would sully and dirty anyone that was its focus. It’s dark and cloying, with a sickening undercurrent of what Derek’s senses struggle to interpret and the closest he can come to is a cruel glee. Grimacing Derek turns away in disgust, letting his gaze slide right over the chair Carter’s sitting in like it’s empty.

 

Ignoring the wave of bitterly sharp anger that overrides the lust behind him, Derek lets himself move closer to his Alpha mate so his shoulder brushes against John’s, letting him know he’s there, that he’s John’s. Whether it’s instinct on John’s part or not, he slips his hand up Derek’s back to clasp his nape in a secure, comforting hold that leaves Derek feeling weak-kneed and shaking. Derek’s wolf recognises the claim that his Alpha mate is making, feels the intent, and all that screams through Derek’s mind is **_‘yoursyoursyours’_**. Before he knows it they’re out on the footpath where the air is night chilled and he inhales deeply letting the biting rush of it cleanse his senses.

 

John drags him to the SUV and he’s got him pressed against the door - hands holding his hips tight in place, body arching over him and kissing him with a frantic desperate urgency so unlike John that it exhilarates as much as it sends little fingers of ice tracing down Derek’s spine.

 

John’s relentless. His sucking, nipping, devouring kisses shake him, leaving Derek painfully hard and aching, panting with need. Unconsciously, his lips try to follow and entice John back into kissing him when the older man slowly draws back and examines his face with a careful wariness that slowly vanishes the longer it goes on to something like relief. It’s swiftly replaced by unchecked hunger as John’s hips press into his, a slow grind that makes Derek gasp and push back so he can feel the solid ridge of John’s sex drag over his own.

 

“I want you to fuck me.” John grates out, lips parted as he pants heavily, chest heaving against Derek’s.

 

Is he having an out of body experience? John’s words feel like they’re coming from a great distance and Derek is phasing in and out of the here and now, vision zooming in and out of focus, because he could’ve sworn that John said…

 

“Wanna feel you in me, fucking me.” John bites his chin in a firm nip that makes his wolf want to howl before sliding down his neck licking and sucking at the curve from neck to shoulder, marking him. Derek’s head falls back, fully baring his throat and his hips buck uncontrollably at the wanton enticement to breed that both he and his wolf can’t and won’t ignore.

 

Burning heat radiates from his body, sweat beading under his clothes despite the chill. A red haze of pure sexual hunger presses down on him, starting at the top of Derek’s head and running down the length of his body until he can feel it right down to his toes that are curling tight in his shoes. His engorged cock is such a throbbing agony that even the shudders of sheer want that rack his body pain him from the friction of his over-sensitive flesh rubbing against the soft cotton of his underwear. It feels like he’s going to burst if he doesn’t get relief soon.

 

“John…John…” The rumbling sound of his Alpha mate’s name bursting from his lips in such a deep pitch startles Derek as he realises that his wolf has started to rise, eagerly wanting to mount his mate. His claws have hooked into John’s suit, one hand wrapped around his back the other curled possessively over the sweet curve of his mate’s ass.

 

“My boy going to make me feel good?” John ask seductively, moving his hand to cover Derek’s where it rests on his ass. He squeezes, forcing Derek to clutch at it, gripping his buttock tight and Derek keens high and excited as his belly quivers tightly and he feels a throbbing contraction pulse through his cock, pre-come spurting out of the tip leaving him squirming in such pleasure that it threatens to snap any and all control he has left. “Let’s go home baby.”

 

Derek presses his face into the hollow of John’s throat, breathes deep and lets the rich warm scent of his mate soothe the fever that burns like fire through his veins and whispers a truth his wolf has always known. “ _Yes John, yes. Home is with you._ ”


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of their first official date brings John and Derek closer than ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been a long time coming (no pun intended).

The continuous low rumbling growl of a highly aroused werewolf fills the cab of John’s SUV making his skin prickle with awareness. He’s pretty sure that Derek’s not even aware he’s doing it. Just like he’s probably not aware his eyes are flashing electric blue in the darkness as they stare hotly at him whenever they come to a stop sign or a red light. Even though he’s seen his boy’s eyes like this many times now, it strikes him again how beautiful they are when Derek’s wolf rises close to the surface.

 

When he was brought into the loop about the supernatural goings on in Beacon Hills – Scott, Derek and Stiles had filled him in on what the various eye colours of the wolf meant as part of his ‘Werewolves 101’ introduction. At the time he wasn’t entirely convinced that gold indicated a wolf wasn’t a killer or that blue solely meant taking an innocent life and the longer he’s been a part of this world the more certain he’s become. From what he’s observed, the wolf’s individual nature is a huge factor in determining what eye colour they have. In Derek’s case, Paige had certainly been an innocent and he knows that Derek blames himself entirely for what happened and doesn’t see it the way John does - a kid who made a terrible, terrible mistake and yet had the strength and compassion to end her suffering and to grant her what John thought of as a merciful death.

 

Was it Derek’s guilt that had left its mark rather than Paige’s innocence? John was inclined to think so, particularly after an omega that had wandered into their territory a couple of Summers back had torn apart a couple of young hikers while still retaining the tawny gold hued eyes of a beta wolf. A crazed lone wolf stinking of death who didn’t feel remorse. After the omega had been dealt with, Scott had issued a warning to all his pack - don’t rely on eye colour as a gauge when dealing with strange wolves. Red, blue or gold, none of them were to be underestimated - all were to be considered a potential deadly threat.

 

He didn’t want to think of the implications of eye colour in relation to Peter Hale and more specifically Laura Hale's death. Doesn’t want to remember Derek’s heartbroken revelation in the aftermath of a nightmare that the only blue eyes their comatose Uncle had when Derek and Laura reluctantly left him behind in Beacon Hills were his human ones. The man’s too dangerous a psychopath to have any hesitation when dealing with him.

 

“John.” The gravelly sound of his name snaps John’s attention back to the here and now, to where his boy sits in the driver’s seat, clawed hands gripping the steering wheel. “Please…I don’t think I can—“ He breaks off looking almost helplessly at John. “Touch me, I need you to—“

 

Derek breaks off with a high keen of pleasure as John reaches over and lets his fingertips lightly stroke over the distinctly pointed velvety tip of his ear. Flicking a quick glance up to the traffic light that hangs over the intersection, John releases his seatbelt to lean in towards his boy.

 

“I love seeing you like this. Love seeing your shift.” John murmurs softly, fascinated with the way Derek’s ear has reshaped into something definitely canine. “Particularly your eyes. Beautiful.”

 

“You…you do?” Derek says breathlessly as John stretches all the way across the console between them to nuzzle in the spot just behind Derek’s ear that he knows is particularly sensitive. “My Mom…she said they were…even after…”

 

John’s heart is gripped and twisted by a surge of grief and admiration for Talia Hale, but more so for the doubtful tone of Derek’s voice.

 

“She was right.” John nips the lobe, relishing the full-body shudder that courses through Derek, releases it only to let his tongue trace over the sensitive inner whorls of his ear. The creaking groan of the steering wheel under strain echoes Derek’s moan as he shifts restlessly in his seat, leaning into John’s caress.

 

“We’re almost there. Almost home.” John reassures as he draws back and pulls his seatbelt across his chest and clips it in. The light changes to green and after a lingering scorching look that John swears he feels to his very bones, Derek refocuses his attention back to the road ahead. His concentration so intense, it bleeds into the air, a noticeable thrumming tension between them.

 

“Thanks for driving. I wasn’t feeling up to it.” John says, hoping to ease the deep furrows in his boy’s brow with some normal conversation. A smile teases at his lips when Derek snorts loudly and just like that the feeling of balancing on a razor’s edge dissipates.

 

“More like you thought I’d be all over you if you were behind the wheel.” A little smirk plays across Derek’s features and he tilts his head so he can see John out of the corner of his eye and still focus on his driving at the same time. “And you’d be right.”

 

John laughs, startled into it by Derek’s candour. “I just know not to be a distraction.”

 

“Uh huh.” Derek says, clearly unconvinced as they turn off the main road through Beacon Hills and enter the quieter suburban streets. “I don’t think it’s working.”

 

John snickers as he palms the front of his pants, gripping and shaping the still half hard length of his cock under the fabric, adrenalin still pulsing through his veins.  Seeing the punk who'd been waiting his turn to abuse Derek that terrible night when he'd learned the truth had sent incandescent rage coursing through his body, he'd been a hair-trigger away from exploding into heady violence and swift retribution. The overwhelming relief that John had felt on realising that Derek hadn’t seemed to know or recognise the Congressman’s grandson had swiftly transformed that need for violence into a wild, uncontrollable one to protect and claim his boy. A need that had him pressing Derek into the solid body of the SUV to kiss and grind against him desperately in full view of anyone on the street until they’d both struggled to come to their senses. 

 

“Didn’t say anything about not distracting myself though.” John’s so turned on knowing his boy is desperate for his touch, his hips rise uncontrollably, pressing his aching cock into the flat of his hand that still rests in his lap seemingly paralysed. It feels so good that his eyelids flutter helplessly, a grunt passing through parted lips as his ass clenches tight on the plug nestled securely in his hole. Heat flickers upwards from the base of his spine at the full stretched sensation.

 

Remembering the feel of his boy against him makes John’s breath hitch as he teases both of them, his dick flexing and straining under his zipper. That same breath is punched out of him as he suddenly lurches forward seemingly on a collision course through the windscreen, only to be held in place by the seatbelt and Derek’s hand that he’s flung out to press protectively against his chest as the SUV comes to an abrupt stop. Wide-eyed John stares at the younger man beside him who slowly withdraws his hand - fingers curling into his shirt, a clear reluctance at letting go. Derek’s nose flares and his chest heaves, rising and falling hard and fast as he devours John with a hot burning stare.

 

“All night I’ve been scenting—“ Derek’s eyes close in apparent concentration as his nostrils flare again and again with every deep searching inhalation. They snap open and John can see how Derek’s looking even more wolf-like with every passing second. Releasing his seatbelt, he looms over John his body radiating heat, so close that he can feel a hot puff of air against his cheek.

 

“Why do you smell like lube?” Derek snarls in demand, fangs gleaming, appearing longer and sharper in the light from the dashboard.

 

John doesn’t even think to prevaricate at the direct question.

 

“Plug.” Voice trailing off hoarsely at witnessing the shock followed by stark hunger that ripples so openly over the younger man’s face as they stare, unblinking, at each other.

 

The cab of the SUV is close and confined, a forced intimacy that still feels as though Derek’s too far away, that he’s not close enough. The silence only broken by the sounds of their panting breaths. The tension between them is back, ratcheting higher and higher, winding ever tighter until John is sure that every muscle in his body is achingly poised on a precipice, straining towards a release of control that he’s not too sure won’t destroy them both with its intensity.

 

Unblinking, Derek is rigid beside him, so still and unmoving that he could easily be mistaken for a statue, but for the pulse visibly throbbing in his powerful neck and the bulging clench of his jaw. Mouth and lips suddenly dry, John lets his tongue slide fleetingly over his lower lip to moisten the tender flesh and in an instant all restraint is snapped. Like a storm breaking, wild and unfettered, Derek surges towards him driving him painfully back into the door with his urgency, his hands hard and possessive, his kiss fierce and brutal. Nipping, licking, biting at his mouth.

 

John hisses as Derek’s sharp fangs tear at the fragile tissue inside his mouth, hands weakly clutching at Derek’s shoulders to draw him even closer as his cock swells and hardens unbearably. The cut on his inner lip is a searing pain of heat and copper that bursts over his tongue and has him thrusting it back deep into his boy’s mouth, forcing him to taste, wanting him to share this dark pleasure that has him right on the edge of coming in his pants like a teenager.  

 

Derek groans, deep and guttural, suckling hard on John’s tongue – claws piercing his suit and pricking into his hips before he’s yanking himself back. Derek’s movements are so fast that John’s brain can’t comprehend what’s happening, simply registering the blurring shape filling the cab one moment and then emptiness the next.

 

Derek’s gone.

 

John blinks rapidly, body shaking uncontrollably, stunned and aroused. The seat next to him is empty and the driver’s side door is still in motion, still swinging open and his boy is simply gone. Twisting in his seat he looks frantically all around the outside of the vehicle, blindly reaching up to flick the interior light off so his eyes can adjust. The street is dark and still, lights glimmer softly from the windows of nearby homes as he searches the darkness, vision straining until his head aches, deep behind the sockets of his skull.

 

The hair on his arms and at the nape of his neck stands on end when he hears the howl. It’s long and loud, filled with what John can only describe as such pure longing that it verges on anguished. Curtains twitch and porch lights come on down the street as it rolls over the neighbourhood, seemingly endless - primal and eerie as it taps into deep seated fears that the wild is closer than modern man realises.

 

Over and over, the wolf howls for its mate under the quarter moon with an aching loneliness that stabs him in the heart to hear. As John listens to the wolf’s song, a strange feeling of understanding or recognition sweeps over him, almost as though with every note that rises and falls he can hear the meaning of what lies beneath - **_mateneedhomesafepackforever_** and ultimately **_mine_**.

 

“Derek.” John calls, voice cracking. “Come back.” With every part of him he wills Derek to hear and know how much he needs him. “Come back to me.”

 

When the last note trails away John lets out a shaky breath and spits out a curse when a dark figure suddenly appears outside his window. The wolf blue eyes watch him steadily as Derek opens the door, cups his face with both hands and kisses him. Kisses him with a tender passion that makes his chest ache and his belly light on fire. Captures John’s lower lip between his and sucks gently on his flesh until he doesn’t feel the cut anymore before releasing it and letting their foreheads meet in communion.

 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I hurt you John…” Derek croaks, voice fractured.

 

“It’s okay.” John scrabbles to hold onto the wolf as he tries to pull away. “It’s okay because I liked it.”

 

Derek freezes in place, breath held fast, eyes shining brightly as his gaze flickers over John’s face. Nodding his head to emphasize the truth that Derek’s senses must be telling him John can only feel relief when the tension that sits in the younger man’s shoulders releases and a shuddering exhalation from deep in his broad chest passes between kiss-slick lips.

 

“You’ve been wearing it all night—“ Derek’s gaze flickers down to the noticeable bulge at John’s groin and he visibly swallows. “—preparing yourself for me?”

 

It sounds like a question, like Derek can’t quite believe that John’s done this for him. That he actually wants this. What he really wants to say is ‘how could he not’, but his throat feels tight and closed, like words are beyond him so he simply nods. John’s pulse races, startled by the deep throttling noise that Derek makes as his predatory mate kisses him hard and fast, bruising his lips leaving them hot and tingling before he closes the door, moving around to the driver’s side.

 

Derek clutches the steering wheel in his hands and stares at it blindly. “If I’d known—“ Derek pauses and John holds his breath as the younger man lifts his gaze to meet his, eyes glittering from the depths of the shadows that fall across his face as they sweep over John with a heated possessiveness that needs no explanation.

 

John’s held breath releases, hissing between his front teeth. Shock and arousal roll through him at the implication at how much his wolf wants him…wants this.

 

“I’ll drop you off at your place.” Derek looks up and down the street preparing to turn the SUV around.

 

“No.” John insists. His hand resting on top of Derek’s stopping him from turning the steering wheel. “I’m coming with you.”

 

Derek shakes his head violently.

 

“John, you don’t…I can’t.” Huffing out a big breath, Derek avoids meeting his eyes. “I don’t think I can control myself around you.”

 

“Yes you can.”

 

Derek twists in his seat to look at him fully, eyes wild. “Damn it, John you don’t get it…just the thought of being inside you…of marking you inside and out—“ He rakes a shaky hand through his hair. “–it makes me crazy.”

 

John clasps Derek’s hand tighter, drawing it up to his lips and kissing his fingertips. “Good, me too.” John husks out. “You’ll control yourself because I want you to, because I’m your Alpha mate and you’re my boy. My good boy.”

 

Derek shivers and John doesn’t resist the urge to lick Derek’s fingers daintily before sucking two deep into his mouth, the contrast deliciously lewd, delighting in the strangled choking sounds that his boy makes before pulling off with a loud pop.

 

“These two…” John gasps, so turned on he can barely speak. His cock a heavy weight in his lap, throbbing with every rapid beat of his heart, balls tight and painfully full. “These are the two that you’re going to use to check that I’m ready…gonna pull out the plug and slip these fingers in my ass, make sure I’m stretched enough to take your cock.”

 

Derek growls, rumbling thunder vibrating out of his heaving chest. Yanking his hand free, he shifts out of park and the SUV is moving down the street. Slightly quicker than what the speed limit is for this area, but going by the determined look of concentration on his boy’s face, John decides that now isn’t the best time to bring it up. Not when Derek’s heading in the right direction, towards his loft.

 

John has to turn away and look out the window so Derek doesn’t see the way his lips twitch and curve up uncontrollably.

 

 

 

For such an open space, the loft is always warm and inviting since Derek had a top of the range heating and cooling system installed in the building. It means that the shiver that courses through John’s body is purely one of anticipation.

 

Derek slams the heavy metal door shut and throws the locks across keeping the rest of the world out of his private space, John quickly moves to the lounge area, standing by the coffee table to wait for Derek to finish. He needs to be in place and taking command of the remainder of the evening or have Derek lose himself to the demands of his werewolf nature and much as John thinks that sounds kind of hot, the risk of undoing all the therapy Derek's completed if he unintentionally hurt him was too great. The quick, impatient movements show his wolf is clearly on the edge.

 

As it was, Derek had rushed him off his feet, holding him tight to his side and half-carrying him from the loft’s parking area and into the freight elevator in his Beta shift with an urgency that was kind of smugly satisfying to an old guy like himself he decided. He was pretty sure that Derek had been tempted to sweep him up in his arms and carry him bridal style, but thankfully no matter how far gone he was on instinct he’d thought better of that, simply plastering himself to John’s back, nuzzling and scenting his neck with a determined thoroughness while humping his clothed ass non-stop.

 

“Take off your jacket and sit down.” John orders calmly when it looks like Derek’s about to come storming down the steps from the entrance.

 

Derek looks momentarily conflicted, hunger warring with the need to obey his Alpha mate. Nostrils flaring and with what John can only describe as a pout, Derek eventually sits down - hands clutching at his knees, knuckles white.

 

John shrugs out of his own suit jacket as well, neatly draping it over the back of a nearby chair and starts to unbutton the cuffs of his blue shirt, not once taking his eyes off the younger man who slowly leans forward watching raptly.

 

“Do you want to please me?” John asks as he slowly tugs his shirt out of his pants. Derek’s pupils blow out, big and dark, as he follows John’s movements, mouth slack and breathing fast. Pausing, John plays with the top fastened button of his shirt. “Do you want to please me?” He repeats the question, demanding an answer.

 

As though awakening from a trance, Derek visibly gulps and nods frantically. Appeased, John continues to unbutton his shirt, the brush of silk over his skin feels overly sensitive as it moves freely - revealing his bare chest and belly to Derek’s hungry gaze. Moving towards the couch he cups his boy’s chin letting his thumb brush over the full lower lip, tugging it down to reveal white even teeth, enjoying the way Derek’s breath catches and his dark eyes half-close, lids heavy. Leaning down he brushes his lips over Derek’s, savouring the sweet heat of his kiss, letting his tongue slide into his mouth for a brief teasing moment before pulling away. Derek groans.

 

“I want to please you too.” John says gruffly, slipping the shirt from his shoulders before toeing his shoes off. He’d not had anything planned as such regarding their coming together tonight, apart from having Derek’s cock deep in his ass, but feeling the slight tremor in his fingers as he unbuckles the belt at his waist, he realises that maybe he wants this way more than he’d thought. It’s no longer a simple desire, a want for every kind of intimacy with this man that he can possibly get, it may very well be a necessity to his very existence.

 

Turning slightly John pushes his pants and underwear down his thighs, not able to resist tugging lightly at his aching swollen cock that twitches and throbs at being released from confinement. Bending slightly from the waist he frees his feet from the tangle of fabric at his ankles and slips his socks off, the punched out groan from behind him makes him smile, knowing full well that at this angle and with the way he’s bent over, Derek’s getting a heck of a view of his ass and the plain black plug that fills him.

 

“John.” Derek sounds broken as John quickly palms the couple of sachets of lube he’d discreetly tucked away in his jacket pocket. There’s a flush of burning colour that sits high on Derek’s cheekbones, his eyes are greener and more jewel-like than he's ever seen them and a rivulet of sweat trickles from his temple down the side of his firmly clenched jaw, he’s never looked more beautiful. “God, please.” He grinds out.

 

Hearing Derek beg cranks John’s arousal even higher and much as he enjoys teasing his boy, there’s no way he wants to be cruel or drag this out anymore. He’d thought maybe to get his boy to suck him first, but just picturing that hot, sweet mouth wrapped around his dick sends such a jolt of lust through his groin, his knees feel weak and a spurt of pre-come drips from his slit to the floor. He needs Derek. Needs to feel his cock inside him.

 

Derek clutches at him tightly, fingers pressing into his flesh with a desperate possessiveness as he straddles the younger man, hushing him softly as the younger man keens and whines, back arching and hips thrusting up so that John can feel the rock hard ridge of flesh beneath Derek’s zipper. John holds him close, letting Derek bury his face in the hollow of his throat as he gently strokes his hair with one hand.

 

“I’ll give you what you need. Always.” John promises, gripping the broad shoulders beneath his hands tight as his senses spin out of control.

 

It’s almost too much. The soft fabric of Derek’s trousers under his bare ass is a delicious friction, the stains of pre-come that has dripped from his overflowing cock onto the black silk of his boy’s shirt is a dizzying rush, leaving him light-headed. It’s intoxicating and he wishes he could see the contrast they make, Derek fully dressed as John grinds down onto his hard cock completely naked. Biting his lip, John has to force himself to stop or have it end all too soon. Thankfully, Derek seems to regain some semblance of control too, releasing a shaky breath and letting his head fall back against the couch. Christ…John feels it like a punch to the gut, at just how fucked his boy looks – eyes dazed, lips bitten and puffy – and they hadn’t even done anything yet.

 

“So beautiful.” John whispers as he presses fierce kisses to his mate’s lips and jaw, finding the buckle of Derek’s belt, delighting in the way his abs contract and flex against his knuckles as he undoes it and unzips his pants. Derek’s hands stroke clumsily over John’s thighs and the sound he makes as John pushes his hand into his underwear and pulls out his cock is indescribable, but one that he wants to hear again and again.

 

“Such a pretty cock.” Derek’s cock is a burning heavy weight in his hand, so red and hard that it looks positively painful. John thumbs at the weeping slit feeling a violent tremor go through Derek as he does, the wolf’s hands settle on his hips. “Gonna feel so good inside me.”

 

Giving Derek’s cock a quick pump, John lets his own dick rest against his mate’s as he fumbles to unbutton Derek’s shirt, his fingers no longer seeming to be under his control as Derek gathers their cocks up in one hand and starts to rock his hips.

 

“Shit.” John swears as a wave of heat rises from his groin and spreads up his chest and neck at the friction that borders on almost too dry regardless of the copious amounts of pre-come they’re both leaking. “We’re definitely gonna ruin your clothes if you keep that up.”

 

“Don’t care.” Derek pushes John’s hands away from his shirt and yanks at the material. Buttons fly into the air, some pinging into John’s chest at the force. A whoosh of air surges out of his lungs as Derek’s perfect body is revealed. No matter how many times he sees him like this, laid bare before him, the rush of emotions that it invokes never fails to choke him up at the magnitude of trust that this man has in him.

 

“God, baby.”

 

John swallows hard, brushing aside the black fabric that hides his boy’s body from his sight, he slides his hands reverently over Derek’s rock hard belly making the younger man curl into John with a whimper as his defined abs bunch and clench at his touch. Grabbing the silk tie that lies across his mate’s chest, still perfectly knotted at the intact collar, John wraps it around his fist and tugs, drawing the younger man upright so that he can look down at the face that captivates him every minute, every second of the day and night.

 

When John licks at Derek’s red kiss-swollen lips, the dark fan of Derek’s lashes flutters against the delicate skin beneath his eyes before they snap open revealing awe and a disbelieving uncertainty in the blown pupils surrounded by a thin ring of blue, green and brown that makes John’s chest ache to see his boy’s doubt in him.

 

“Are you sure? You really want me to…” Derek trails off, a shaking hand sliding over John’s hip to clutch his right ass cheek pointedly.

 

He’ll stop if Derek needs him to, even though the thought is so agonizing John has to grit his teeth not to beg and plead for him not to. “Yes, I want you Derek…I need you to fuck me, but if you don’t want—“

 

“I DO.” Derek snaps out, eyes flaring vivid blue and a low rumble vibrating from the depths of his chest. “I want this so bad it hurts.”

 

Relief rushes through John, he can’t doubt the pained honesty in his boy’s expression and in his tone.

 

“Do you want to take the plug out?” John mutters roughly against Derek’s mouth, his boy’s lips too close and too lushly red to resist feeling them beneath his. Pushing his tongue in deep, the kiss that follows is the hottest, wettest, filthiest one that he can muster, only drawing back when his lungs are so empty of breath that black spots fleck his vision.

 

John sways and Derek blinks slowly as they both pant heavily, desperately trying to suck air into oxygen starved bodies when John feels the sudden prick of claws on his hips.

 

“I don’t think I can.” Derek growls, low and guttural in frustration.

 

“Okay…let me…” John reaches back and carefully draws the plug out of his ass, hissing between his front teeth as he gently eases it out, tilting it one way then the other so it releases from the tight muscle with a slick pop, before dropping it on the floor where he can retrieve it later and sterilize it. He’s not surprised when a trickle of lube leaks out of his ass and begins a slow journey over his balls, not with the amount he’d pushed into his hole earlier in the evening unsure of how much ‘hands on’ participation Derek would be up for, if at all.

 

“You’re my boy and I know you would never hurt me, because when I do this—“ John grabs Derek’s hand, bringing it to his mouth and flicks his tongue over the claws that protrude so sharply from his fingertips. Derek gasps in horror, the claws retracting instantly before John can even taste them.

 

“See. Knew you could do it.” John praises the younger man before suckling on two of Derek’s fingers. Laving and licking at the digits with a thoroughness that makes John groan and his dick twitch against Derek’s abs as he imagines replacing his boy’s fingers in his mouth with another part of his anatomy. God, he wants to suck Derek off so bad, but not until his boy is ready – although the way Derek’s panting and mewling as he slides his fingers in and out of John’s mouth, his issues with receiving oral sex might be closer to being resolved than he’d thought.

 

John slowly pulls off Derek’s gleaming wet fingers with a lewd smack of his lips, the tips rest on his lower lip tugging it down. “Get me ready.”

 

Derek’s half-lidded eyes flare hotly at the order as John leans forward on his knees, spreading his legs wider to give his inexperienced mate easier access to his ass. There’s barely an inch between their lips as Derek clutches at his buttocks with both hands, squeezing them tight as his fingers search tentatively for the entrance, rubbing over the stretched pucker and drawing out a needy moan from John that has them both freezing for a split second before Derek does it again purposefully. Dipping and pressing against the sensitive flesh over and over until John swears that he’s gonna go insane.

 

“Yeah…that’s it.” John grunts as a finger presses inside. Derek’s got big hands, thick fingers and they feel so damn good that John’s half worried that he’s gonna go off just from this.

 

Derek sounds shaky when he asks “Is this okay?”

 

Opening his eyes that he didn’t realise he’d closed, John sees the concern on Derek’s flushed face.

 

“Oh yeah.” John nods appreciatively and Derek seems encouraged by his reaction. “Give me another please.”

 

John can’t help but kiss him hard when Derek slides another finger into his tight passage. Even with the plug and Derek’s fingers, it’s been a while and he’s pretty sure he’s gonna be feeling it tomorrow every time he tries to sit down and he doesn’t know what that says about him that he’s looking forward to it. John pushes his hips back, Derek groans through their bruising kiss as he clumsily tries to establish a rhythm as he pumps in and out of his hole, a third finger slipping in eventually.

 

“That’s so good baby.” John whispers against Derek’s lips as he grabs one of the lube packets he’d dropped onto the cushion next to them. With shaking hands he tears it open and slicks his mate’s straining shaft with a firm grip that has Derek swearing and arching beneath him, until John angles his hips to align his hole with the tip of Derek’s cock. Derek’s eyes are huge as John sinks down, his ass taking in the fat head with a rightness that belies the sting of being stretched wide open. Lower and lower he drops, letting gravity do its job, the burn of Derek entering his body a pained pleasure of fullness that has his eyes rolling back in his head.

 

 ** _“John.”_** Derek cries out his name, a raw and broken sound that sends heat curling throughout John’s groin. John sits in Derek’s lap, the wolf’s cock buried in him from root to tip, heavy balls against his ass cheeks, his mate panting harshly as he tilts his head back against the couch.

 

Derek’s big. It’s not that John hadn’t been aware of it, but always seeing it next to his own monster cock had taken away the impact of its size - it’s not until now that he realises that it’s damn near the biggest, thickest most perfect cock he’s ever taken. His skin prickles with a rising flush of heat at the thought of being split apart on his boy’s cock. A wild recklessness rolls over John subduing the little voice in the back of his head that whispers at him to be patient…to not rush and possibly injure either of them and he starts to move consumed entirely by his own need. A grunt of frustration escapes him as Derek grips his hips hard and holds him effortlessly in place.

 

**_“Please…don’tmovedon’tmove…I’m so…I can’t…”_ **

 

The raw desperation in Derek’s voice shatters the haze of lust and John somehow manages to hang on and give the younger man time to adjust to being balls-deep in his body. Maybe it’s not just his boy who needs time, there’s a heat radiating throughout his body from deep inside him, from where Derek’s cock is seated so fully within him and it feels so good, so right that John swallows hard to unblock the sudden lump in his throat. As a werewolf Derek’s core temperature is always a few degrees higher than a human’s, the difference is not usually so noticeable, but he’s sure as hell feeling it now.

 

Sweat beads on John’s body and he can feel a trickle slide down the length of his spine to annoyingly tickle the crack of his ass. The blaze of warmth that radiates out from inside his belly is a comforting connection. It feels like Derek’s forged a place inside him, not just physically, but on every level – emotionally and spiritually. He’s never experienced a joining so perfect, so overwhelming.

 

John traces patterns across the broad planes of Derek’s sweat-slick chest, drawing out waves of goose bumps on his smooth skin, plucking at his nipples until they’re rosy and peaked. His boy making strangled noises with every pinch, his hands clutching at him so tight that he’s definitely going to be seeing some bruises. A blush of pink blooms on Derek’s chest, rising and travelling up his strong throat where his Adam’s apple bobs rapidly to eventually stain his high cheekbones and the tips of his ears a deep crimson. John shivers at the raw power contained in his mate’s body, a power that Derek cedes to his control every single time which amazes and satisfies him in equal measure.

 

Little tremors rack through Derek’s body and John can feel the other man’s cock jerk and twitch deep inside him and he can’t wait anymore. Grabbing the hands that clutch at his hips he threads their fingers together and pins them either side of Derek’s shoulders against the couch cushions, inordinately pleased that the younger man didn’t resist, and starts to move riding his boy oh-so-slowly.

 

“This okay?” John asks, throat tight as he studies the man beneath him. Derek answers with a whine and a shaky nod, beyond words, his mouth slack, lips red and enticing. Too enticing to be ignored and John stretches up to kiss him, hot and hard, sweeping his tongue into the hot lush cavern. The movement drags John’s cock over the defined ridges of Derek’s abs leaving slick glistening trails of pre-come.

 

The friction against his own cock and the slick slide of Derek’s deep within his body is too good. John moans loudly, Derek groaning in reply, lifting his hips to chase John’s body and push his cock back in like he can’t bear not being completely surrounded by his Alpha mate’s heat for even one second.

 

Moving his pelvis fluidly, up and down and in grinding circular twists, the slap of skin against skin rings loud in John’s ears mixed with his heavy breathing and the increasingly louder growls from his mate. John’s thighs burn and his scarred hip and knees ache, but he can’t stop, doesn’t want this to end too soon. Doesn’t want it to end ever.

 

In some ways he feels more powerful, more in control than if he’d been fucking into Derek’s ass. The dominant part of himself taking fierce pleasure in topping his boy no matter what their position. Releasing one hand he threads his fingers through Derek’s silky hair and tugs, angling his boy’s head to one side and baring his throat to his gaze.

 

“My boy. MINE.” John grunts as he fucks down harder, needing Derek to know that he’s the only one that can give him this…can make him feel like this.

 

Derek whines, high and needy. The sound awakening something primal and possessive in John that demands he bite and lick and suck at the exposed vulnerable flesh. Sucking bruise after bruise up and down the strained cords of Derek’s neck he can feel the vibration of what’s become one continuous growl beneath his lips as he bounces up and down on the younger man’s cock with a little twist of his hips on the upstroke. Harder, faster, dirtier.

 

Most of the time John’s prostate isn’t as sensitive as what Derek and some of his few previous partners have had and admittedly he’d been a little bit disappointed when he’d realised that he wouldn’t experience the almost nirvana-like pleasure that he’d witnessed on their faces and had gradually come to simply enjoy the fullness and intimacy of being fucked by another man. Whether it’s that extra inch or so of Derek’s cock or the way he’s laying across Derek to reach his neck that changes the angle or maybe it’s the simple fact of being with the man he adores in an act of love and trust, but he can feel a sensation from deep within him, something that sparks and ignites a winding twist of heat that makes his belly contract and his ass clench tight. Shockwaves of pleasure rippling throughout his body.

 

“Fuck me.” John chokes out, anchoring his arms around Derek’s neck as his wolf envelops him in his, hands scrabbling greedily at his back and starts to thrust powerfully. They’re not so much as kissing as simply panting hot ragged breaths into each other’s mouths, wrapped around each other as close as two people can possibly get and yet still striving for more. Always more.

 

Derek’s strong. So strong that he’s able to support John easily as he fucks up into his ass and it’s such a turn on that John wonders if Derek can even understand him when he grates out **_“Harder”_** and feels him shudder beneath him.

 

“Can’t…close…feels too good…” Derek rasps, even as his body complies regardless of what his lips are saying, his thrusts lifting them both off the couch. John grabs his neglected cock with one hand stroking it brutally as what feels like an unending stream of pre-come pulses out of the tip and down the shaft.

 

Tingles at the base of his spine spread out like flickering flames and John can feel his balls tighten and lift in promise of rapidly approaching pleasure. “Gonna make me come baby.”

 

As though it’s a signal Derek pounds into that spot of electrifying sensitivity deep within him, making John cry out. There’s a fleeting sharp burst of pain at his neck, but it’s soon forgotten as his whole body tightens into one almost unbearable contraction of tension that suddenly dissolves in a rapid unwinding release that’s so powerful, so damn good that he almost passes out.

 

Specks of black float in his vision as spasms rack his groin as he spurts streams of hot come all over Derek’s chest and abs, his ass furiously gripping and releasing Derek’s big cock trying to milk it of all it contains over and over.

 

Derek roars his pleasure as he twists and writhes, shoulders pushing back into the couch, thighs of steel bunching beneath John’s ass as his hips jerk helplessly. Derek’s lost control of his shift, clawed hands holding John in place as he bucks upwards one last time and comes, his bloodstained lips curl back revealing his gleaming white fangs as he snarls silently, voice lost to the overwhelming demands of his body.

 

John collapses, his whole body awash in sensations of such satisfaction and contentment that he’s left weak, but not so that he can’t hold his boy close and feel the puff of Derek’s hot breath on his collarbone. The thrumming drumbeat of Derek’s racing heart vibrates against his chest and John murmurs soft words of love and adoration against Derek’s temple, fingers stroking through the damp tangle of hair raking against Derek’s scalp in soothing sweeps. The noises that Derek’s making from where he’s buried his face in John’s throat licking at the sensitive skin has his lips quirking with amusement as his big powerful wolf sounds more like a purring kitten.

 

“You bit me.” At John’s words, Derek’s tongue pauses as it laves at the torn flesh only to quickly dart back and swipe over the mark in one long drag of wet heat as though afraid he’s going to be stopped. Blinking slowly, Derek’s pupils are so dilated his eyes look black and the big goofy grin John receives surprises a huff of laughter out of him at how blissful his boy looks.

 

“Mine.” Derek slurs, sated and come-drunk. John nods in agreement, as much as Derek is his boy, **_he_** is Derek’s Alpha mate. That Derek’s needed to mark him with a visible claim is one that he understands all too well considering his own feelings of love, pride and possessiveness he feels whenever he sees the scar of his own bite on the back of his boy’s neck. Frowning, he wonders who he’s more annoyed at – himself, for not realising that his wolf needed this or Derek for not telling him that he did. It’s no contest, he could really kick himself sometimes.

 

Derek nuzzles his face into John’s chest with a happy rumble, streaks of come smeared between them. John’s fingertips trace lightly over the wound on his neck, the shiver that provokes has his ass tightening around Derek’s still half hard cock. The rumbling sound from his wolf deepens noticeably and John gasps at the flicker of slick heat over his nipple before it suctions on the sensitive flesh, sending a coiling tendril of desire low into his groin that pulses with every sucking pull that Derek makes with his mouth.

 

The world spins crazily and with a shocked ‘oof’ as he lands John somehow finds himself on his back, the couch cushions soft beneath him as Derek slots heavily between his thighs as he frantically wrenches off the remnants of his shirt and tie, wriggling to push his pants down. The cock buried in his ass isn’t half hard anymore, it’s thick and solid and John’s pretty sure his eyes are bugging at how quickly his boy’s recovered and is ready to go again. What’s even more surprising is that he can feel his own cock stirring in response.

 

“What the hell.” John grunts.

 

Derek freezes above him, eyes wide and mouth gaping, seemingly startled at his own chutzpah in manhandling his Alpha mate.

 

John scrutinizes his face intently, before lifting an eyebrow at the younger man. “Think you can make me come again?”

 

Derek growls hotly at the challenge and surges forward as he starts to piston his cock in and out of John’s come-slick hole making him groan long and loud in pleasure. He wishes he could lock his ankles over his boy’s lower back and hold him in place, but his hip and thigh that had taken the shrapnel all those years ago is feeling tight and achy from where he’d straddled his boy earlier. All he can do is tilt his hips and rock up into every thrust, Derek whines into the claiming bite at his throat each time he does.

 

His boy’s done so well tonight.

 

A wicked grin tugs at the corners of John’s mouth as he reaches around to grab Derek’s ass, kneading the supple flesh as it bunches and contracts, pulling him in harder. Lifting his hand he lets it drop in a firm smack across his boy’s left ass cheek and Derek howls. When he does it again on the other side making his fingers sting, Derek raises his head and John can feel his insides clench hard. Derek’s face is nearly purple, eyes wide and mouth slack as he pants and gasps in excitement.

 

“Good boy.” John praises his mate and Derek curls his strong, muscular body over John in protection as much as in claim, fucking deeper and harder than ever.

 

Hell yeah, he is so going to feel this tomorrow.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's unexpected fall-out from the aftermath of their first date and Derek finds that things are changing - that he's changing - all for the better he believes, but will one phone call undo everything that he and John have struggled so hard to build.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guns and the safe practices regarding use and storage of them are not familiar to me as they are not commonplace where I live so I did have to research a little and hopefully the scene within this chapter is not flawed and I hope you will give me poetic licence in that I'm aware humid environments are not good for these weapons, but it would've broken the flow of the scene to have the character remove it.
> 
> Unbeta'ed.

[Human - Rag'n'Bone Man](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RpimiNvcRC4)

 

Derek curls protectively around his Alpha mate who is sprawled exhaustedly face down across his bed. Somehow he’d managed to drag John upstairs to his bedroom even though the older man had declared he couldn’t move and was quite happy to remain on the couch forever if need be and comfortable though it is for watching tv, the wince that crossed his sleepy features as he’d awkwardly tried to roll onto his side wasn’t all entirely due to the pounding his ass had taken that night.

 

The loft is rich with their entwined natural scents, enhanced by spit, blood and semen. It’s so intoxicating he feels dizzy with it, drawing in long deep breaths, wishing that it could permeate right through his skin and lungs into the very core of him and he could carry it with him always. Apart from that, he’s so completely content that if his wolf could physically manifest itself here and now, separate from him, the smug fucker would be on its back – belly exposed, tail wagging and body wriggling in satisfaction.

 

Shimmying down the bed, Derek lets his head rest in the small of John’s back, the silky warmth of his skin pressed to his cheek. From here he can see and smell his come frothing at the edges of the other man’s puffy stretched hole, inevitably a trickle escapes. Not able to resist he tries to push it back in with his fingers, only to freeze instantly when he hears John moan and it’s not all from arousal – pain, sharp and abrasive, assaults his nose.

 

The veins in his arm turn black and slowly pulse as he draws the pain from John’s ass, only to have his hand slapped away sharply by his Alpha mate’s.

 

“Stop it.” The prickle of guilt that he’d been feeling balloons rapidly in his chest, only to be deflated just as quickly when John says in an exhausted mumble into the pillow that Derek can only just make out. “Wanna feel it…stretched my asshole real good…like it.”

 

Derek’s cock throbs.

 

Hearing the deep and steady breathing that signifies John is well onto his way to falling asleep, Derek looks ruefully down at his surging erection before gently kissing the hollow of John’s back then the dimples that sit either side of the base of his spine. The rounded globes of John’s ass are pale with a light covering of hair that reminds him of peach fuzz and it makes Derek’s mouth water thinking about sinking his teeth into the lush flesh before him, marking him so that anyone who sees it will know that John Stilinski is his. An irrational surge of jealousy rushes through him and he growls angrily at the thought of anyone seeing his Alpha mate like this. The other man sighs, barely shifting as Derek pants heavily over him like some love-sick horny pup, unable to look away from the miracle that lies beside him.

 

Almost as though John can feel him staring, he stirs restlessly, the muscles in his legs and ass go taut as they flex and stretch. It’s enough to make another trickle of Derek’s come spill out of John’s ass, this time down to his balls and before he can even think about it, he’s licked it up in a long swipe of his tongue.

 

The flavour ignites his taste buds and he swallows it down greedily. It’s the slightly sweet tartness of his come mixed with John’s addictive natural scent of whiskey, oak and limes layered over with an earthier musk that sends his pulse racing and has his cock twitching. Desire igniting all too easily whenever he’s around this man, so strong and powerful that he's lost to everything, but his Alpha mate. All his senses focused intently on John.  On John's ass.

 

It takes the other man's drawn out groan, deep and guttural, to snap him out of his haze to find himself lodged between his Alpha mate’s splayed legs, face buried in his ass and his tongue probing as deep as he possibly can get. Sucking and licking soothingly at the puffy pink hole to get every last drop, it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted in his life.

 

With a partial shift his jawline is slightly more canine muzzle, more importantly his tongue is longer, broader and more versatile than a human one. Curling it, he starts to fuck John’s ass, stabbing it firmly into the abused sensitive hole, delighting in the way John grunts and pushes back into his mouth, matching his rhythm. Derek ignores the sting of sweat as it trickles over his brow and into his eyes, he could tongue-fuck this man forever.

 

John’s balls hang ripe and heavy and Derek can’t resist playing with them at the same time, rolling them over his fingers before cupping them gently. Letting the shift fall away he dips his head to lap at the soft velvet skin, alternating between each ball to suck it in and hold it tenderly in his mouth. John’s grinding hard into the mattress making strangled noises in between bitten off curses that tell him his Alpha mate is close and Derek whines happily, the sound vibrating through the large orbs. John comes on the sheets with a shiver.

 

Derek presses his face into the older man’s perineum and inhales deeply over and over as he frantically strips his own cock with a tight, almost bruising grip and comes with a frantic, broken cry - spine bowing, hips driving forward. When he has the strength and has stopped shaking, Derek crawls up to lie next to John, facing him as they share a pillow. It thrills him to see the bite mark at the join between John’s neck and shoulder, the vivid demarcation line of his teeth is stark on the pale skin of his mate, he’s pleased and somewhat relieved to see that it’s stopped bleeding. Humans tend to bleed a lot and as a Were who starts to heal instantly, it’s something he’s conscious of paying attention to in case it goes on too long and blood loss becomes dangerous – it’s one of the first lessons his Mom had taught him in regard to caring for the human members of their pack.

 

“Well that was something.” John murmurs breathlessly, blue eyes bright beneath heavy sultry lids, an easy smile on his kiss-swollen lips. “Three times in one night…haven’t done that since I was at College.”

 

“My bite-“ Derek huffs out a long breath not sure of how to say it. “It’s more than just a claim mark to let others know that you’re mine and I’m yours.”

 

John holds his gaze steadily waiting for him to continue.

 

“You’re mated to a werewolf now. We’re bonded.” John quirks an eyebrow at him, silently questioning. “My family…our pack wasn’t just made up of wolves, there were humans too. There’s benefits for a human to be mated to a wolf…improved health and immunity to disease or if you do get sick you recover faster, quicker reflexes and increased stamina…for males their refractory period shortens…for males and females an increase in their libido and fertility.”

 

John stares at him blank faced for the longest time and Derek can feel his heart stutter wondering if the other man’s pissed that he didn’t mention this before.

 

“Damn.” John rubs his hand over his mouth and chin, he must see something of the dismay Derek’s feeling in his expression because he reaches up and cradles his face, his eyes warm. “Don’t look like that, it’s just we could’ve been doing this the whole time.”

 

Derek nods guiltily, avoiding John’s penetrating blue eyes. He knows that John has struggled with the idea of not keeping up with him not only as a human, but as a man nearly twenty years older.

 

“I couldn’t help myself…it was feeling so good and-“ Derek shrugs almost helplessly, unsure of what to say that could make up for biting John without discussing it first. The frown that furrows his forehead and tugs the corners of his mouth down doesn’t match how incredibly, blissfully happy he is that he’s bitten John, but not giving his Alpha mate a chance to consent first makes his stomach churn sickeningly.

 

A bitter ammonia based scent sends his head snapping back as his eyes water helplessly and his nasal passages burn.

 

“Was this a mistake?” John says sharply, the colour leaching from his face leaving him ashen. Even his eyes that had been twinkling so brightly before look dull and faded. “Did you not mean to give me a mate bite?”

 

Derek shakes his head frantically – **_NO NO NO NO_**. Grabs John’s biceps as he feels him drawing away even though physically he’s not moved an inch. “Everyday I’ve wanted to…you’re the only one I’ve ever wanted to-“

 

“But-“ John pushes, colour slowly returning to his cheeks, irritation thinning his lips.

 

“We’ve not talked about this before, I didn’t give you a chance to say yes or no. I never asked if you would want that kind of bond with someone-“ Derek hesitates before blurting out with pained honesty. “-like me.”­

 

The skin around his Alpha mate’s eyes goes tight, his nostrils flare as he inhales deeply to take a steadying breath and the ammonia scent disappears under a bitter heavy layer of burnt coffee beans.

 

“Damn it Derek…you’re the only one **_I_** **_would_** ever want a bond like this with.” John’s furious and strangely Derek takes comfort in it. The loss of control of his normally gentle, patient lover reveals a depth and volatility to his emotions that Derek had always suspected was there in relation to him, but had never allowed himself to hope for. “Jesus Christ, Derek…you’re killing me here.”

 

John jerks away, rolling onto his back and draws his arm across his face, hiding from him, as he sucks in a shaky breath, then another and another trying to regain control. Derek feels like he’s breaking apart watching his Alpha mate’s turmoil and all because of him.

 

“I appreciate your concern about my consent, but you and I know that since this started…since **_we_** started, this is where we’ve been heading.” John says, sounding somewhat calmer. “You’re right in that we should’ve discussed it first, I never asked before I left my mark on you and in hindsight that was probably a mistake.”

 

Derek chokes back the urge to throw up, wondering if John’s believing the whole thing was a mistake. As though he knows how much Derek’s hurting, John rushes on determinedly. “Part of it was pure instinct and part was the time was right, just like tonight was right for you…so whatever’s running through your head right now forget it, **_you_** wanted this and ** _I_** wanted it too, don’t you ever think I didn’t. I wanted it with you then and with you now.”

 

Derek bites his lower lip in agitation, before releasing it abruptly, afraid he’s going to chicken out of shattering his mate’s misguided belief. “John, it’s not-“

 

“Don’t.” John interrupts almost viciously.

 

“Don’t you dare say it’s not the same.” John says with such steely conviction that the temptation to believe him is almost undeniable. He lowers his arm slightly, one impossibly blue eye peeking out, studying him with almost terrifying intensity. “My mark on you means something…something to me and I damn well know it means something to you.”

 

Derek’s mouth is so very dry, lips twisting and trembling uncontrollably. Chest aching, knowing he can’t deny it. “Yes.”

 

John lowers his arms completely, laying before him open and bare, covered in sweat and come yet nothing can detract from the naked vulnerability on his face as he lets the deep yearning for something meaningful between them show. “You’re my boy, Derek. Mine and I love you.”

 

“Don’t stop.” Derek whispers, his insides feel like they’re quivering apart, terrified that he’s destroyed something so beautiful and so right with his clumsiness.  “Don’t ever stop loving me.”

 

“Hell kid.” John reaches out and hauls Derek into his chest, rough in his need to comfort. “Not possible.”

 

He doesn’t know how long they lie there, limbs entwined, every breath matching as their chests rise and fall in unison. When the hush becomes too much Derek nuzzles and kisses the pec he’s been resting his head on, slowly brushing his lips across John’s broad chest.

 

“I’m sorry.” Derek breathes into the patch of tanned skin shaped like a ‘v’ at John’s throat, right where he habitually has the top two buttons of his uniform shirt undone. John squeezes his arms tight around him for a few moments before releasing with a sigh.

 

“I’m sorry too.”

 

Startled, Derek props himself up on one elbow to look at John’s face. “Why are you apologizing? I’m the one that keeps fucking this up with all my bullshit.”

 

John scowls fiercely. “We’re both fucking this up, me more so.” John pushes himself up to lean back against the pillows and headboard. “I’m too impatient-“ He shakes his head when it looks like Derek’s going to interrupt. “-I am…I know I am. You’ve only just begun therapy and it’s going to take a while…years, maybe forever and here I am pushing you which is the last thing you need.”

 

John takes a deep breath, hurt flashing in his eyes, gone before Derek can even blink. “But, every time you doubt me, second-guess how I feel about you, it’s like a slap in the face. It hurts baby and I lashed out, but I need you to know that I’m here…I’ll always be here for you.”

 

Derek stares blindly at the older man’s chest, letting the rhythm of his breathing mesmerize him, the steady rise and fall settling him. Had he been second-guessing John? He hadn’t meant to, but it’s just so hard for him to accept that this is real – that John’s feelings for him are real and enduring. The poor man’s suffering from whiplash and he can’t blame him for being frustrated, Derek’s frustrated too. There are days when he’s confident and certain of John and the direction his life is heading and then there are others, admittedly not so frequent since he and John got together, when he feels so soul-bruised and damaged that even getting out of bed in the morning and facing anyone, including John, is a challenge he’s afraid that one day he won’t be able to overcome.

 

“You trust me with your body, trust me with your heart too.” John runs his hand over Derek’s head in a gentle caress, fingers lightly carding through his hair and Derek can’t help but lean into the touch, not wanting him to stop.

 

Lowering his head he brushes a kiss over John’s scarred hip, letting his lips run over the damaged flesh. “I’ll try.”

 

“That’s all I ask.” John says gruffly.

 

Draping his arm over John’s hips, Derek presses his face into his mate’s belly and just breathes. It takes a long time before sleep finally claims him.

 

 

“Settle down.” Derek grips the back of the struggling man’s shirt collar and shakes him roughly, before pushing him towards the booking desk ignoring the “Fuck you” and a number of other expletives that are spat at him. Jordan pulls out the paperwork ready to start processing the foul-mouthed thief.

 

“What’ve we got?” Jordan asks, hands scrabbling around the desk looking for a pen, triumphantly waving it in the air when he finds one.

 

“Purse snatcher. Pushed over a 72 year old woman to get at it, looks like she’s broken her hip in the fall.” Derek scowls so ferociously at the foul-smelling man, his scent corrupted by chemicals that he recognises as alcohol and drugs – specifically meth, that the guy shuts up mid-curse with an audible gulp and between the two grim-faced men he’s processed and in a holding cell in near record time.

 

As they walk back from the cellblock, Jordan grabs a coffee from the machine in the breakroom as a pick me up. Derek waits and smiles at his friend in sympathy and relief. They’ve both worked the second watch which is nearly over, but Jordan had agreed to do a couple of hours overtime into the third to allow Delgardo to go with his wife to their first ultrasound appointment and see their unborn baby for the first time. It just happened that the Deputy, who Derek quite likes and wouldn’t have refused anyway, had spotted Jordan first and asked him to cover otherwise it could well have been Derek – he’s known as the go-to-guy to swap shifts or cover late starts and early finishes - which he hadn’t minded previously, but since he and John had gotten so close he’d been reluctant, wanting every available minute to spend with his Alpha mate.

 

Jordan pulls a face as he takes his first sip. “Ugh…not hot enough.” He swallows a couple more mouthfuls before throwing the paper cup into the trash. “So…nervous?” Jordan asks cryptically.

 

“About what?” Derek questions, even though he has a sneaking suspicion where this conversation is heading, which is confirmed when Jordan rolls his eyes.

 

“Your coming out.” He whispers, jazz hands waggling crazily either side of his head which Derek isn’t entirely sure how it represents his and John’s “affirmation of their sexual identities as a couple” as Stiles insisted on calling it to which Derek insisted on calling him an idiot. “Remember. Melissa’s birthday dinner.” Jordan’s eyebrows rise in emphasis at Derek’s carefully neutral expression.

 

“For her non-birthday because she doesn’t celebrate that combination of numbers and we don’t mention what it is…like ever if we want to live or more specifically if I want to have sex in this lifetime again.” Derek snorts in amusement, Jordan’s heartbeat hasn’t altered in the slightest so he’s definitely being truthful about the consequences. “SO…John and you, first time as a couple in front of the rest of the pack.”

 

“You’re making way too big a thing out of this.” Derek grumbles at his friend. “In fact, I think you’re rather enjoying it.”

 

Jordan laughs. “Yeah…I am, but hey, Melissa and I had to suck it up when we first got together.”

 

Derek stops in front of the double doors that lead to the main work area of the Department reaching out to grab Jordan’s bicep, stopping him before he pushes them open.

 

“You know what the funny thing is.” Derek can see Jordan’s face twist in surprise then concern at his serious tone. “I’m worried about not being worried, if that makes sense.”

 

It’s almost been niggling at him constantly, why he isn’t concerned about their relationship being on display to the rest of the pack. Ever since that night after their first date, Derek’s made a big effort to ignore any twinges of doubt that may arise and simply accept John’s love and affection for the genuine emotion it is. Accept it and return it in kind and going by the contented grin and the twinkling blue eyes of his Alpha mate over the past week, the message is being received loud and clear.

 

“Yeah, it does. You guys are good together and the pack knows it. Just being around you lately I can feel that you’re happy Derek, genuinely happy and that’s something I didn’t think I’d ever be able to say and I’m so glad I can.”

 

Something like relief washes over him. The validation that what he and John feel for each other is recognised by someone he counts as a trusted friend and seen to be a good thing is a reassurance that strengthens the foundations he’d been slowly building every time he quashed a flicker of hesitation or scepticism, gives it a certainty that settles warmly in his gut.

 

“Thanks Jordan.” Derek looks down at his feet, feeling as shy and as awkward as he did when he was a teenager and was hiding it behind a wall of cockiness and bravado that more often alienated the very people he wanted to be closer to. “I’m lucky to have you as a friend.”

 

The abrupt sound of a throat clearing startles him into looking up and he catches a glimpse of something soft and pleased in the other man’s expression before he’s smiling back helplessly in the face of Jordan’s wide grin. “Damn right you are.”

 

A phone rings shrilly at a far workstation as they enter the bullpen before being picked up by one of the other Deputies.

 

“That reminds me, some guy’s been calling for you. Didn’t leave a message, said he would keep trying.” Jordan pats him on the shoulder before sitting at his own desk to finish off some backlogged data entry into the system. Gives him a very obvious ‘speak of the devil’ lift of the eyebrows as Faraday calls across the bullpen, phone snug into her well-muscled neck and shoulder.

 

“Hale…call for you on 1.” The stocky Deputy’s blonde ponytail swishes against her nape as she nods to let him know she’s transferred it. The phone on his desk starts to ring as Derek sinks into his chair, picking up the handset in one hand and dragging a notepad and pen closer with the other in case he needs to take down any information.

 

“Deputy Hale speaking.” Derek waits for a reply. It’s quiet. Too quiet on the other end. “Hello…Deputy Hale speaking.” He repeats, wondering if the other person has become incapacitated in some way, because there **_is_** a person on the other end of the line. He can hear them breathing. It’s fast and rapid, hitching slightly. Derek strains his senses trying to hear any background noise for clues to the location in case it’s actually a medical emergency, but there’s nothing except for a slick rhythmic sound and the caller’s increasingly ragged breaths.

 

Wet skin on skin.

 

Sudden recognition of what he’s listening to slams into him with gut-wrenching force and he can feel his face become unbearably hot, cheeks scorching with anger and embarrassment only to feel it drain away in a sickening rush leaving him dizzy and ill when he hears a deep groan of completion.

 

“Who is this?” Derek demands, struggling to keep his tone even. “You could be charged with-“

 

“You should always be on your knees Deputy.” Cold seeps through his body, the hissing voice chilling him to the bone as bile rises perilously close to the back of his throat. Shock strips his limbs of all strength, paralysed in place, as there’s no mistaking exactly what is being referred to.

 

It’s a nightmare. It has to be. After all this time, all these years and his secret is about to bring his world crashing down around him. A world in which he’d let his guard down and finally started to believe he could be happy.

 

“Derek…Derek…” With an unsettling jolt, Derek becomes aware that Jordan’s hovering over him – visible concern crumpling his face with a deep set frown – and the phone in his hand is miraculously intact though the compulsion to crush it in his fist increases with every strident beep of disconnection letting him know that the caller has hung up on him.

 

“Are you okay?” Jordan stumbles back as Derek surges to his feet. Spinning around he can see the other Deputies working at their desks, seemingly not paying him any attention, but it feels like at any minute they’re going to look at him and then they’ll know. They’ll see it within him, his weakness, the things he’s done in the name of atonement. He needs to get out of here. Breathing hard and fast he pushes past his friend, shrugging off the hand that tries to hold on and ignoring Jordan calling his name.

 

Fear curdles in his veins and pools low in his belly making him feel like he’s going to throw up. It’s not until the Camaro’s tyres are squealing out of the Department’s car park that the nausea eases slightly. Derek swallows over and over trying not to choke on the lump in his throat. A lump composed of fear, regret and anguish.

 

He drives.

 

No destination. No route in mind and with none of the pleasure he normally gets from driving the powerful car and its responsive purring engine. Derek drives the streets of Beacon Hills blindly. Automatically stopping and starting, indicating and changing lanes where he needs to without thinking of anything, but that voice. The echo of it, the gleeful hissing whisper, replays over and over again in his head until he reaches the place it all started.

 

The house is gone now. Even the foundations. The cellar which had become a tomb is no more.

 

Peering through the windshield he sees the saplings, that on one of her infrequent visits a couple of years ago, he and Cora had planted for each lost member of their extended pack. The injunction had been a long and expensive process to stop the development of a new housing project on his family’s territory, but seeing the green foliage, the budding branches and not tracts of identical houses it’s well worth it.

 

Unbuckling his seatbelt, Derek gets out of the low slung car and walks to those saplings, reaches up and lets his hands trail gently over the smooth green leaves and breathes in. The scent of ashes is gone. There’s no trace of the fire now, no trace of his home or family, just rich earth, pine sap and the wild tang of prey – rabbit and deer tracks criss-crossing the forest floor. Is it a good thing or not? He can’t decide, just knows there’s a twisted feeling of relief and loss at the knowledge.

 

Within the surrounding trees, the sprawling forest canopy makes the light fade even quicker and there’s a hush in the transition between late afternoon and evening. A quiet in the lengthening shadows that was once filled with the sounds of a family that had lived and loved here. His family who had never hurt anyone and had been burned out of existence simply for being different.

 

Out of nowhere, grief and fury rise in Derek’s chest, filling it to beyond its capacity with raw emotion, he struggles and gasps as it overflows so he can’t breathe and the only way he can let it out is to scream. Hunching over he screams again and again, claws bursting from the tips of his fingers and he’s almost ready to tear out his own chest and rip out his heart so that he doesn’t have to feel like this anymore.

 

“FUCK YOU.” Out of control, Derek roars into the air, his whole body shaking. The 16 year old Derek that he’d ruthlessly suppressed for so many years, who he’d punished endlessly and never allowed to cry or grieve properly surfaces from the deepest, darkest recesses of his mind with all the passionate intensity of a teenager. “FUCK YOU KATE. I HATE YOU SO MUCH.”

 

Derek rages at the encroaching darkness, prowling from one side to the other of what is now a sheltered glade where his family’s home once stood. Shifting uncontrollably back and forth between wolf and man, he relishes the pain of fangs piercing through his gums then retreating only to erupt through again and again so he can gnash and snarl at the night with the metallic tang of copper pennies on his tongue.

 

With every fibre of his being he wishes that SHE was here so he could gut her from throat to pubic bone – tear and rend the beautiful body he’d spent himself in repeatedly.  Despoil her like she'd despoiled him. Feel her bones snap between his teeth, grind the ones in her slender hands that had held him down that first time all too easily – when his teenage body had ached, permanently frustrated and constantly hard by longings that made him blush while his head was confused by feelings he didn’t understand and couldn’t even begin to name, all tainted with lies and secrecy.

 

Raking his claws over the trunks of the closest pines, he slashes and cuts hearing her wicked husky laugh and picturing her teasing killer smile that had tormented and egged him on, gouging deep into the bark in his fury – remembering how much he’d liked it being her 'puppy', liked her, being the focus of all her attention.

 

Derek howls. Then howls again. Over and over, until his healing ability can’t kick in and his vocal chords feel like they’ve been sandpapered raw and his chest is sore and aching from the ongoing powerful vibrations.

 

He doesn’t know how long it takes, only aware that it’s full dark now - the storm having inevitably passed and he falls to his knees, sprawling face first in the long cool grass surrounding the saplings. Panting and shaking with exhaustion, Derek curls into himself trying to find comfort by hugging his knees tight to his chest and for the first time that night he wishes John was with him.

 

The glittering stars that speckle the clear night sky above him are the only ones to hear the hoarse desolate whisper of the boy he’d once been.

 

“I loved you.”

 

 

It’s well after midnight by the time he parks the Camaro in the loft’s street level parking garage. Emotionally ragged and frayed, caked in dust and dirt, Derek shuffles bone tired onto the freight elevator and leans against the wall barely able to summon the strength to push the button for his floor.

 

The heavy sliding door to his loft is open, light shining brightly onto the landing almost in welcome. John is standing in the doorway, casually dressed in jeans and a navy blue crew-neck sweater, as Derek wearily lifts the gate to the freight elevator and lets it drop down heavily behind him. Stumbling to where his Alpha mate waits for him, expression tight and scent bitter with worry before it lightens with an invigorating burst of whiskey and fresh limes, relief softens John’s face as Derek wraps his arms around him and lets his head fall onto his mate’s broad shoulder with a heavy sigh.

 

Home.

 

“Thanks for being here.” Derek murmurs eventually, voice still strained. John holds him closer, hands smoothing down his back in comfort, the heat of them penetrating his uniform shirt and warming his skin.

 

“I was going out of my mind.” There’s no accusation in the older man’s calm voice, even though it pitches roughly by the end, it’s simply stated and Derek believes him unreservedly. If their situation had been reversed he would’ve been near enough feral.

 

Laying under the stars he’d realised that for all the violent emotion that he’d experienced that night he’d deliberately not thought about John. He’d not wanted to think about being exposed and what this would mean for their relationship or if it would all be too much for his Alpha mate who had probably never reckoned on having such an emotionally unstable and potentially career-damaging partner.

 

If he quit the Department John could salvage some of his reputation by claiming not to know of his activities if it became public and hopefully that would be enough to not disrupt his re-election campaign. Physically and emotionally, John would be okay too if they parted ways. The mate bite was more binding to a wolf than to a human, so while John might suffer some small discomfort it wouldn’t be in the same way Derek would have to endure the agony of separation from his mate.

 

Resignation had settled like a stone in his chest. Resignation and despair and such a deep-seated longing for his Alpha mate that was so strong and reaching that it had to be voiced – if he’d heard the keening sound of anguish that burst from his throat at that moment from another human being, Derek would’ve sworn that it was the sound of a heart breaking.

 

As though John and the universe were united in disproving his belief that his Alpha mate wouldn’t suffer if they were to part, Derek had felt a pull right in the very core of him as though in response to his agony. It was an external almost tangible urgent tug on something beyond his physical self, the overpowering wave of connection punched the very breath from his body leaving him reeling. It was frantic, desperate and underlying it all was love and need, affection and devotion – all for him. The strength of their mate bond a stark reflection of what Derek had fought and resisted for so long, consciously and unconsciously, until it was simply undeniable – John loved him.

 

**_I’m here…I’ll always be here for you._ **

 

The words had rippled through him, like a stone cast into a pond, gaining momentum the further it spread. John’s words, echoing through his mind and his heart. The realisation that he’d been doing exactly what John had accused him of – second-guessing the other man – had been devastating until he’d received an immediate reply to the text message he’d sent there and then asking John to meet him at his loft.

 

11.39pm John

_Already here. You ok?_

Swiftly followed by,

 

11.40pm John

_Come home._

With that response Derek had spun the wheels on the Camaro, spraying dirt and gravel in a fishtailing rush to get back to John.

 

“I’m sorry.” Derek draws back from their embrace, needing to look into crystal blue eyes, to let his Alpha mate know that he’s sorry – not just for tonight, but for everything he’s put them both through. He’s got enough clarity now to recognise that he’s not made things easier for himself either.

 

“Okay.” John nods in easy acceptance, before drawing him in toward the open door, his fingers entwining with Derek’s. John has to literally prop him against the wall while he shuts and locks the door before looking across at him thoughtfully. Derek holds his breath, an invisible band tightening around his chest, wondering what his Alpha mate’s going to ask.

 

“Are you hungry?” John points to the kitchen. “I could fix you something…a sandwich…ham and cheese omelette maybe.” Derek shakes his head, his stomach still rolling queasily.

 

Gratitude wells within him that John doesn’t press him for the answers to all the questions he’s surely wanting to ask, but when the other man leads him to the bathroom where a fully drawn bath is waiting for him, steam rising and curling into the air, his throat closes up on a thick knot of emotion.

 

John’s clear blue eyes hold his steadily as he undresses, intense and unwavering as he folds his clothes into a neat pile on the bathroom counter. Naked, John stands in front of him and starts to unbutton Derek’s uniform shirt, slipping it from his shoulders before moving onto his gun belt.

 

Derek’s mesmerized by his Alpha mate’s strong hands as they unbuckle the belt, John’s knuckles brushing against Derek’s abs making them clench hard and fast, his breath saws in and out rapidly. John pulls the Glock 22 out of its holster, with its ‘safe-action’ system he simply removes the magazine and checks the chamber is empty before sliding it back into the holster. His deft fingers handle the matt black gun with a professional competency and familiar confident touch that combined with the miles of bare golden skin on display and the heavy sway of his big cock and balls is so damn hot that Derek struggles to breathe thinking about those same hands running over his own body in the same way.

 

With the gun belt and ammunition safe on the bench until they can put it away in his gun locker, John turns his attention to removing all of Derek’s clothes with an intense focus that makes Derek quiver. With every tug and pull that John makes on his clothes and shoes, Derek lets his body give and sway easily until he’s equally naked and they take a moment just to drink each other in. Derek’s entranced with the way his mate’s body moves, the play of muscles that bunch and flex – a light sheen of sweat from the humid atmosphere coating his skin that he wants to taste so bad his mouth goes dry.

 

John steps into the bathtub and he doesn’t even need to beckon, Derek’s there, drawn to him by a compulsion that’s unquestionable. Undeniable. With a grace and ease that Derek envies, John guides him into position and with the warm water washing over his tired limbs and his Alpha mate’s solid chest at his back he holds himself tautly once they’re seated until John’s lips brush over the sensitive rim of his ear.

 

“Let go, I’ve got you.” As easily as a flipped switch all of Derek’s muscles release and he sinks back into John’s body, cradled close within his splayed legs, John’s thickening cock nestled against the small of his back. He can feel his own semi-hard cock give a little pulse as it rests on his abdomen, but there’s no rush, no urgency – the arousal that they always feel on seeing each other naked is soothing to Derek’s battered emotional state.

 

Tipping his head back to rest on John’s shoulder Derek closes his eyes, letting his body flow and merge with John’s so that when his mate starts to gently wash his body, hands running over him so tenderly, it’s peaceful rather than intrusive.

 

“Good boy.” John murmurs softly in approval, a sweet burst of pleasure flows through him at the praise settling Derek even further, leaving him loose and pliant. He lets John direct his movements and guide his body without resistance, allowing John to dunk his head into the warm water before he starts to wash it with his scent free shampoo, the scrape of his fingers over his scalp sending a shivering rush of goosebumps from his nape and over his shoulders to all his limbs.

 

When John’s finally finished, Derek feels clean and so very cared for that a continuous low rumble of contentment vibrates through his chest, strong enough to send ripples through the bath water which is still warm, swirls of steam rising from the surface. The bathroom feels closed off to the rest of the world, it feels safe, but that maybe due more to the man behind him who holds him close in his strong arms.

 

Derek lets his fingers trace over John’s corded forearms, one draped over his shoulder the other around his chest, delighting in the pink flush that tints his Alpha mate’s paler skin from the hot bath and the steamy humidity of the room. Through his shoulder blade, cushioned by John’s broad chest, he can feel the steady beat of John’s heart. Can feel it flutter even faster as he tilts his head to let John brush his lips, hot and velvet soft, over his exposed pulse.

 

The peace of the moment isn’t lost to him, it’s perfect. The words he’s struggled to say, the things he’s longed to reveal somehow are easier to tell right now than they ever have before. If it’s because of his earlier catharsis or simply because he’s facing away from his Alpha mate he doesn’t know and doesn’t care. He talks and talks, telling John everything and with each word he feels lighter. When he describes the phone call he’d received that afternoon Derek hears the furious curse bitten out harshly from the other man and feels John’s arms tighten, the way his legs slip around his hips securely, anchoring him in place like John will never let him go.

 

He lets the older man rock him gently as his voice catches and a few tears slip, trailing down his face, as he explains how he’d finally broken down at the grove of trees honouring his family. That he understands a part of himself now, one that he’d rejected in all his pain and grief, and can finally accept who he was, who he is and what he’d done. That werewolf senses aside he is human and he’d loved and trusted the wrong person.

 

“So strong, so brave.” John whispers hoarsely. “My amazing, wonderful boy.”

 

John brushes the tears from his cheeks with gentle fingers and turns his head slightly so he can kiss the corner of his mouth. It’s a contradiction of chaste and sweet, a recognition of what he’s lost and a promise to honour what they’ve found together, plus sexy as hell feeling their stubbles scrape together with delicious friction.

 

The moment doesn’t last nowhere near long enough as John’s body stiffens with a rising tension, he huffs out an increasingly agitated series of staccato breaths against Derek’s cheek as though he’s working himself up to say something. Something Derek’s not too sure he wants to know.

 

“Derek I…” John hesitates and Derek can feel and hear the way his Alpha mate’s breath hitches warily and his heartbeat accelerates nervously. “I think I know who called you.”

 

Derek shifts, struggling to turn awkwardly in the bathtub, the water sloshing around him threatening to spill over the edge before John reluctantly lets him go. Kneeling in between John’s legs he can see how acutely uncomfortable his Alpha mate is with what he’s revealing. For the first time ever, the other man can’t seem to meet his eyes.

 

“What? Who do you think it is?”

 

“Remember at the restaurant we met the Mayor and the other people at his table-“ John begins and Derek’s too startled not to interrupt as he recalls the people at the table that night and that horrible, ugly scent that had briefly seared his senses with its inherent wrongness.

 

“Fuck…that scent, that godawful scent. He was there, wasn’t he?” Derek demands.

 

“Yeah. Carter Reynolds, the Congressman’s grandson, he was at the club the night I came and picked you up.” John sits forward, rubs his hand over the back of his neck before running it up over his hair to the crown of his head, a sure sign of his agitation. “He was one of the ones waiting outside the bathroom. I may have…persuaded him not to stick around.”

 

“You recognised him?” Derek mentally rolls his eyes at himself for asking such a dumb question. Of course John recognised him, remembering the sudden overprotectiveness of his mate that night, the anger that had wafted off him – thick and heavy – followed by an almost giddy relief that had segued into some of the best sex he’d ever had. “You were happy that I didn’t though.”

 

“Yes damn it.” John slaps at the water furiously, careless of the way it splashes onto the floor. “That was our night and you were happy and I didn’t want him to taint it…you’ve come so far, it just seemed like a blessing that you didn’t.”

 

The scowl on John’s face would be intimidating if Derek thought it was actually directed at him, but he knows that his Alpha mate is majorly pissed off with the situation and the person behind it. It won’t be pretty if John gets his hands on them. More importantly though, Derek can’t allow the older man to do this type of thing again, being kept in ignorance for ‘his own good’ undermines everything he’s been working so hard to regain.

 

“After that call with Isaac you promised me that you’d always talk to me before doing anything if you felt I needed protecting. Holding back that information…“ Derek shakes his head. Normally, he loves how John is so caring and protective of him and likes to think that he gives his mate the same in return, as equals. He knows John kept quiet for what he thought were the right reasons, but it makes him feel weak so he can’t be anything but honest as to how he feels. “Maybe if you’d told me I wouldn’t have been so blindsided today.”

 

John rears back, face blanching, his lips parting as though to speak before snapping shut. Guilt has his shoulders drooping and his head hanging low. Derek rubs at his chest, somewhere in the vicinity of his heart, trying to ease the heavy ache that’s settled there, an ache that isn’t just his own.

 

John straightens, shoulders pulling back as though bracing himself for a hit, his chin lifting so he can meet Derek’s eyes. Remorse is etched into the deep lines either side of his grim mouth and the shadow in normally clear blue eyes.

 

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” The gutted sound of his voice makes Derek’s belly tighten painfully in response and he fights to ignore the need to comfort the other man until he’s finished having his say. John extends his hand to Derek, open palm up, visibly flinching when he doesn’t take it straight away.

 

“No holding back information, no secrets John. Not like this, bad things can happen…will happen if we’re not honest with each other.” Derek slides his hand into John’s letting their fingers entwine, hearing the shuddering sigh of relief the older man makes when they finally touch.

 

“Okay.” John nods his head in agreement. “No holding back and no running off like today without at least letting someone know where you’re going. I get it if you need time alone, but I was so scared for you baby…Parrish said you looked…well he wanted to grab a patrol car and search the entire town – street by street - to find you.”

 

The anguish is painfully vivid in his mate’s voice, Derek leans in and kisses John in apology. As he pulls back, John untangles their fingers and cups Derek’s face with both hands, drawing him in and holding him in place with long, drugging kisses. Lips sliding, tongues stroking – not deep, just enough to taste and send a zing of electricity through his body.

 

The water is cooling so rapidly it’s only barely lukewarm, but it doesn’t deter the surge of blood to his groin, doesn’t stop his cock from swelling even further and though he’s very, very comfortable sprawled over John’s body he doesn’t want his Alpha mate to get chilled. With one last lingering kiss Derek sits back on his heels before slowly rising to his feet. Water streams down his body, running over the muscled planes of his chest, rivulets coursing through the grooves of his defined abs and pelvis to steadily drip from the tip of his jutting cock. Derek offers a helping hand to John who doesn’t move, seemingly content to lay back against the sloping end of the bathtub and survey Derek from head to toe with a look in his eye that makes Derek’s heart thump hard and fast against his rib cage.

 

“God, you’re beautiful.” The gravelly rasp sends a shiver through every muscle, strong enough to make the hand he’s extended towards his mate visibly tremble and John’s glacier blue eyes narrow, fixing on the movement with the intensity of a predator. With the speed and grace of a claimed mate, John is kneeling in the bathtub before him – so close, so very close - holding that shaking hand with both of his and pressing it to his cheek, nuzzling into it as he stares up into Derek’s eyes silently asking a question.

 

Warm breath stirs the damp curling hair at his groin and his balls lift and tighten, cock flexing hard, and it would be so easy, so very easy because he wants this – wants it like air to breathe and it would be so good, he has no doubt of that, but…and there it is, the qualifier, the niggling sensation that tells him he’s not quite ready for this yet and he pulls John up from his knees. Relieved that there’s no disappointment or recrimination in the older man’s expression, just one of acceptance and understanding, and he’s pushing his way into John’s arms wanting only to hold and be held.

 

They fall into Derek’s bed after drying each other off, John seemingly bemused by the fluffy fabric of his bath towels, rubbing them against his face muttering ‘so soft’ under his breath and more puzzlingly ‘how do they do it’. John curls around him, big spooning him as he always does when they share a bed, even though Derek’s got a couple of inches in height on him not to mention more than a few extra pounds of muscle, it feels right though – it feels safe and Derek can’t help but push back into the older man’s body. John’s big cock pressing into the crack of Derek’s ass, where it throbs just as hard as Derek’s, his mate’s arms tighten around him with a drawn out hiss, but John goes no further intuitively understanding that what he needs tonight is to be held and comforted regardless of what signals his body is giving.

 

Derek’s on the verge of falling asleep when he feels John brush his lips over the back of his neck, kissing the mate mark with a reverence that he can feel all the way to his toes.

 

“Love you so much, sweet boy.” John whispers into his skin and Derek smiles in contentment as he replies doubt free.

 

“I know, I love you too.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John tries to come to terms with his overprotective side and the realisation that the bond he has with Derek as mates brings with it some unexpected benefits, but someone's been watching and waiting to leave a message for Derek that's shattering.

Stretching out one arm awkwardly behind him from beneath the bed covers, John bats his fingertips against the lampshade, blindly searching for the switch to flick the bedside lamp on.  The soft amber glow is enough to send shadows scurrying back to the furthest corners of the room and falls across the span of the bed allowing John to see its other occupant quite clearly.  It’s warm and cosy, intimate in the way only sharing a sleeping space with another person can be.  Muffled by the thick curtains he can hear the steady rhythm of rain pattering against the glass window panes and the building’s vast metal roof providing an accompanying drumming percussion which almost sounds musical. John's jaw cracks loudly in a wide yawn as he realises what must've disturbed him as thunder rumbles close by and as he lies there listening to each subsequent clash of sound he realises it's steadily moving away.

 

Content, John lies on his side greedily drinking in the sight of Derek beside him.  His boy’s face is partially smooshed into the pillow where he’s curled into John’s body, one muscled arm draped over his hip heavy and possessive, but John can see enough of his features to be relieved at how relaxed and peaceful he looks after a decent night’s sleep.  Yesterday had taken its toll on both of them, more so on Derek, who’d come back to the loft late the previous night filthy and exhausted.

 

When he’d first seen him emerging from the freight elevator there had been something in the tightness around those beautiful eyes and the grim line of his mouth that told John his boy had suffered that night, maybe not physically, but definitely mentally and emotionally.  However, the instant that their eyes met that tightness had been swept away, Derek’s hesitant smile of relief at seeing him lighting up his face with its sweetness even as he apologised.  The naked emotion that his boy bared to him had left John nearly speechless, fumbling to know what to say as he’d held him upright.

 

It had been clear that Derek hadn’t been sure that he would be there waiting for him despite the text messages that John had sent with trembling fingers, the remnants of enduring a shockwave of emotion through their bond, twice having to clear the screen and start again when it looked more like a garble of letters than actual words.

 

How did this man keep forgiving him?  It felt like he constantly fucked up when it came to Derek.  When his boy told him, with a quiver in his voice, about receiving that bastard’s phone call and his shock and fear, it had been gutting.  Knowing that he was right about being ‘blindsided’ by John’s sometimes admittedly overbearing need to protect was a painful revelation and made him look back and re-evaluate many of the decisions he’d made in relation to one Derek Hale.  Fair or not, if the situation had been reversed John knew himself too well to deny that he would’ve been anything but extremely pissed if Derek had done the same thing and withheld information.

 

He didn’t remember relationships being this complicated, didn’t remember being so goddamn awful at them either.  Then again what he had with Claudia he can look back upon as being a more innocent part of his life when the direst threat was the bank holding the mortgage over his home, not this world he now knows contains werewolves and kanimas and worse, other beings so evil and fucked up that he doesn’t ever look at the shadows in the same way he once did.  That he and Claudia hadn’t faced any of those evils or even a major human trauma in their lives until her diagnosis was a blessing – he didn’t count the loud vivid dreams he sometimes had reliving the shrapnel entering his body that had him waking heart racing and lathered in sweat or the way he still flinched when his bastard of a father called him ‘Noah’ out of spite rather than his preferred middle name once John was too big to be his Dad’s punching bag any longer.

 

Derek’s long lashes flutter against his high cheekbones as he stirs and John holds his breath as he waits until those eyes focus on him once more, can feel his belly rolling with the fear that Derek will wake up and rethink being with him.  Will realise that an ageing, controlling, overprotective cop is not what he wants or who he wants to tie himself to. He’s honest enough to admit he couldn’t bear it.  His fingers clench tightly onto the bed sheets that cover them, afraid that if he relaxes for even an instant he’s going to grab hold of the other man and not let go.

 

The air puffs out from between his lips in relief when he sees the sleepy open expression of love and affection on Derek’s face, feels giddy with it, can feel his mouth stretch wide in response to his boy’s smile.  Watches in fascination as the visible crease lines from his pillow disappear almost immediately from Derek’s cheek, the skin smoothing out supernaturally fast.

 

“Good morning, gorgeous.”  The way Derek rolls his eyes, yet he still presses his face almost shyly into John’s chest with a pained groan has him snickering.  There’s a part of him that wonders at himself, how he can tease and laugh so freely, but there’s another part - a stronger more stubborn one - that won’t allow the threat hanging over them to take this away, won’t allow it to stifle the happiness that he feels at simply being together. 

 

“Not gorgeous.” 

 

Hearing the muffled words, John rolls nudging Derek onto his back, letting their legs tangle and sucks in a ragged breath at the feel of his morning wood pressing into Derek’s.  The pressure is almost too good, making him throb all over.  He’s been agonizingly hard since the moment he woke up, the sneaking suspicion that he’s been erect most of the night while sleeping seems to be confirmed by the deep-seated ache in his balls.

 

“Yes gorgeous.”  He insists, brushing his lips over Derek’s stubbled jawline, the abrasion of it sending sparks down his spine.  “Gorgeous and kind.”  John carefully presses open-mouthed sucking kisses along Derek’s collarbone not wanting to miss an inch as his boy shudders, shaking his head in denial.

 

“Strong and brave.”  The soft gasp Derek makes as he slides down, his tongue darting out and delicately lapping at the hardened bud of his boy’s nipple is immensely gratifying and John’s cock gives a little pulse of approval.

 

“Generous and loyal.”  John’s teeth graze over Derek’s ribcage, a trail of goosebumps rising on the silky smooth skin with a shiver.

 

“I sound like a St Bernard.”  Derek rasps in annoyance, but his cheeks are flushed and his lips keep quirking uncontrollably at the corners.

 

“But most of all-“  John points his tongue, dipping it into the hollow of Derek’s navel, rimming the edge of his bellybutton, too conscious and too tempted by the hard cock that’s twitching just below his chin. 

 

Derek’s breath hitches audibly.  “Most of all…what?”

 

John rises to his knees, the warm cocoon of bedcovers falling away from his body - the slightly cooler air making his own nipples peak, tight and hard - as he drinks in the sight of his boy sprawled on the bed before him.  That Derek seems to like what he sees is immensely gratifying.  The younger man’s gaze flickering hotly over his face and chest before fixating on John’s painfully swollen cock that juts out from between his thighs, making it flex and bob in response. 

 

Derek licks his lips hungrily before biting the enticement that is his lush lower lip, capturing it between what John privately thinks of as Derek’s bunny teeth, knowing he’s sensitive about them.  It’s adorable and sexy all at the same time and makes him want to do wicked things to that mouth.  The increasingly rapid rise and fall of his boy’s chest, the bare expanse of skin – flushed pink and starting to glisten with perspiration - there’s no way in hell he can stop himself from reaching out and touching.  His hands brush over Derek’s flat belly to curl over the powerful breadth of his ribcage, feeling the way it expands on a deep ragged inhalation, as he leans forward to hover above him.

 

“Most of all what, John?”  Derek repeats, growling in demand, snapping John out of his distractingly erotic thoughts before wicked impulse has him smiling devilishly down at his boy.

 

“But most of all how ticklish you are.”  John’s fingers glide over Derek’s sides, back and forth rapidly, up to his armpits and down his ribs then back again.  The shock on his boy’s face, mouth shaped into a startled ‘O’ makes him laugh delightedly. 

 

“Stop…stop…please John…”  Derek begs breathlessly, sounds coming from his slack mouth that John can only describe as giggling, as he bucks and writhes beneath John’s relentless hands as they tickle and stroke his body.  “Please-“

 

“Nah ah…got you where I want you sweetheart.  You’ll have to ask real nice before I-“

 

Derek flips them over with a playful growl and John finds himself flat on his back.  Derek looks down at him and John can’t look away, can’t blink.  The laughter slowly dies away as those magnificent eyes that have crinkled so delightfully at the corners flicker over his features from his mouth to his eyes and back, Derek’s pupils enlarge rapidly as he whispers again hoarsely “Please John.”

 

Derek slowly lowers his body until they are flush together, it’s such a welcome weight of heat and power that John gives a little exhale of shock at the contact, helplessly splaying his legs wider so that Derek can settle closer between them.

 

John’s heart feels like it’s about to beat out of his chest under that hungry burning gaze, licks his own suddenly dry lips.  “I should…my teeth…you know brush them-“

 

“Don’t care.”  Derek mutters as he lowers his head and his mouth finds John’s, kissing him with such intent, like it’s the only thing that matters and John melts.  It’s hot and wet and so damn good that John doesn’t register the staleness of their mingled breath, simply clutches at Derek’s shoulders afraid that he’s going to pull away and end this electricity that sparks so wildly between them.

 

Their bodies strain and grind against each other, hands gripping tight, hips twisting as they search for release.  Cocks trapped between their torsos, pressed tight and hard, leaking so profusely that the friction quickly dissipates into smooth powerful glides.  The eroticism of it has John moaning into Derek’s mouth, shivering uncontrollably at the growling rumble he receives in reply.  Lifting his legs, John lets his feet slide over Derek’s taut ass and thighs to anchor him in place as he rolls his pelvis up, heat coiling tight in his groin as his balls start to tingle and lift.

 

Rocking harder and faster into each other, John can’t kiss his boy any longer, gasping for air - too overwhelmed by the sensations coursing throughout his body.  Derek buries his face into his neck, hotly scenting the hollow of his throat, body shuddering in the cradle of John’s arms and legs.  Panting harshly as he feels Derek licking greedily at the sweat that’s gathered there, John groans, feeling himself driving closer and closer to the edge.  “Gonna make me come.”

 

Derek grunts in reply, hands curled over John’s shoulders anchoring him in place as he ruts, straining and surging against him one last time before he hunches over him with a high broken whine as his body convulses.  The hot splatter of come on John’s belly burns deliciously and he can’t hold out any longer as his own orgasm washes over him, the tension abruptly uncoiling from his groin with wrenching pulses that wring his balls out and make his asshole flutter hungrily.  The uncontrollable sounds he makes ring in his ears and for a brief fleeting moment he thinks maybe he should be embarrassed, but he frankly feels too good to care.

 

Breathing hard and fast under the densely muscled weight pinning him to the mattress, John traces trembling fingers over the planes of Derek’s face, can feel the heat of the satisfied blush that burns hotly on his boy’s cheeks under his fingertips.  Moisture rims his eyelids as Derek presses his cheek into the curve of his hand turning into it and kisses the centre of his palm with a tenderness and adoration that he doesn’t feel he deserves, but oh how he craves it.

 

They lay there for another ten minutes, savouring the feel of entwined bodies, Derek’s head resting heavily on his chest – ear pressed tight to listen to the thrumming beat of his heart.  The room is filled with the scent of _them_ and John wonders if he’s becoming more wolf-like himself from being around his boy and his pack for so many years now that he finds it both arousing and comforting to smell their own natural scents mixed with sweat and come like a sensory blanket wrapping around them.   Murmuring soft words of sated desire into each other’s skin, they’re reluctant to start the day and leave this sanctuary of tangled sheets, John only drawing his boy from their bed when their combined come is uncomfortably cool and tacky. 

 

Fingers tangled together, John’s not inclined to let him go for one moment – not even when they stand in the shower stall beneath the fall of hot water and wash each other so carefully that it almost feels like worship.  It’s not just the soft cast to Derek’s eyes, the dark fringe of his lashes glistening with droplets, as he drags a washcloth over John’s belly that makes him think he feels it too, there’s a soothing warmth rising and swelling in his chest that feels as though it’s from beyond himself and while it’s a strange sensation it’s definitely not an unpleasant or unwelcome one.

 

Unlike the previous evening, with Derek missing and the hours steadily passing, John had suddenly felt an overwhelming agony of despair and loneliness so strong and powerful that it had driven him to his knees, clawing at the polished concrete loft floor gasping for breath.  Frantic though he was to try and find his boy, he could tell that this burst of crippling emotion didn’t originate from himself.  These weren’t his feelings.  They were alien and strange, but not from a stranger.  Derek had resonated so strongly in both his mind and his body at that moment that John had to look around with blurred vision to confirm that his boy wasn’t physically present. 

 

He should've been freaking out, should've been doubting his own sanity, but too many strange things had happened over the years for him to doubt that whatever was happening wasn’t real.  If somehow through his bond with his wolf John was able to share in what his boy was feeling, then this terrible, terrible hopelessness and grief was not something to be borne by any living thing and without hesitation he’d opened himself up.  Dropping any and all barriers and inhibitions, simply allowing himself to acknowledge every emotion and feeling that he had for Derek Hale.  It was strangely freeing.  Gradually, the anguish had dissipated enough to allow him to stand on legs that were weak and shaky.  Even as horrifying as it had been to feel the depths of Derek’s despair, it’s a connection that’s intoxicating in its very intimacy and one that he thinks he could get all too used to. 

 

It lasts even as they get dressed, neither of them seeming to be able to draw their eyes away from each other.  Seeing the smooth skin and toned body being covered by the plain Departmental uniform is just as mesmerizing and enticing to John as seeing Derek’s clothes coming off – maybe it’s the notion that only he knows what’s beneath the fabric and that no one else gets to see.  A powerful surge of possessiveness runs hot through his gut and if he’d not been entirely sure if the connection was one way, the instant flash of glowing blue eyes in response to his emotions and the way Derek tilts his head to expose his throat suggests that it’s definitely not. 

 

A looping feedback of pride and satisfaction from his boy compels him to scent mark Derek’s throat, the rapid bobbing swallow of his adam’s apple against his palm the fast tap of his pulse against his fingertips, he can feel the sense of security that his touch brings to the younger man and the pleasure and gratitude he finds in that trust is staggering.

 

It isn’t until they’re mid-way through eating the crepes that they’d thrown together for breakfast that Derek asks the question that John’s been expecting and dreading. 

 

“When do we bring him in?”

 

Coughing to try and clear the lump of banana, honey and crepe that seems to be caught in the middle of his throat, John takes his time, swallowing a mouthful of rich, bitter coffee to wash the sweetness down as he thinks of what he needs to say.

 

“You’re pursuing this?”  John tilts his head watching the other man carefully. 

 

“Yes.”  Derek nods his head determinedly, eyes glowing blue. 

 

“He has connections and things could get ugly.”  John can’t help but point out the potential problems and feels a sharp pang when Derek seems to instantly deflate in his chair, shoulders slumping, his hands wrapping around his coffee cup John suspects more from a need to do something with them rather than any true desire for caffeine.

 

“You’re right.”  Derek says eventually, his gaze fixed on the wooden surface of the oak dining table like it holds all the answers and not merely the rain-dulled early morning light reflecting off the gleaming polished top.  “I’d forgotten…we can’t…not with the election coming up.  It could damage your chances and Beacon Hills needs you, needs a Sheriff that knows what’s out there.”  Derek pulls his shoulders back and lifts his head, his face is so earnest and accepting that it takes John a moment to absorb what he’s said before he’s rearing back in surprise.  Replaying the conversation in his head there’s a loud click from the back of his throat as he struggles not to choke on his own spit when he realises what it would sound like to the younger man. 

 

“No.”  John grinds out harshly, needing Derek to understand.  “I meant it could get ugly for you.  They could and most likely will dig into your background…they may discover personal things, things you’ve kept hidden trying to discredit you.  I don’t care about the election Derek, what I care about is you.”  John pushes his plate away and reaches across the table with both hands, relief and satisfaction coursing through him when his boy doesn’t hesitate to take them.   “I’ll always be on your side sweetheart.  Don’t rush, whatever you decide I’ll stand with you.”

 

Derek clutches at his hands like they’re a lifeline as the implications of what John’s saying hit home. 

 

“Thank you.”  His boy rasps hoarsely.  “That means-”  Derek swallows and shrugs, ducking his head, but not before John sees the way his eyes glisten.

 

Slipping from his chair, John moves around the large table, not able to resist going to this man – this so very good man, who would sacrifice his own need for justice to ensure that John keeps the job that sometimes feels like it demands so much of him and the people he loves and yet he can’t deny that it’s an integral part of who John Stilinski is.

 

Still seated, Derek wraps his arms tight around John’s hips drawing him in to stand between his thighs, and nuzzles his face into his belly, sighing softly as John runs his hands over his broad shoulders drawing them up and over his nape to thread his fingers through the silky strands of his hair.  Over and over he combs through its softness letting his nails lightly scrape over Derek’s scalp, a smile on his lips at the faint rumbling sounds that vibrate through his boy’s relaxed body that remind him more of a purring kitten than a fierce and deadly werewolf.

 

“My boy, so good…so very good for me.”  John whispers, aware that what he’s said could be construed a few different ways and they’d all be correct.

 

There’s a peace and contentment in touching him this way that John’s reluctant to end, the grey skies and fat rain drops running down the length of the huge windows don’t encourage him to stop either, but he knows that they have to go – their shift will be starting soon and no matter what’s happening to them personally they both have a duty to the people of Beacon Hills.  Dropping a number of kisses on the crown of Derek’s head he tilts it back with a couple of fingers beneath his stubbled chin and brushes a lingering one on Derek’s mouth enjoying the warmth and taste of him.

 

“Gotta go baby.”  He murmurs against Derek’s plush lips, chuckling at the small grumble of protest his boy makes.

 

“Maybe we should call the boss, tell him we’re sick and spend the day in bed…recovering.”  The dark slash of Derek’s eyebrows rise in a devilish wiggle of innuendo.

 

“I don’t know if it’s worth the risk.  He’s a bit of a hard ass.”  Enjoying Derek’s light hearted mood, John tries to look thoughtful as he plays along, but despite himself his lips keep quirking in amusement.

 

“Oh yeah.”  Derek grins wickedly, his eyes flashing.  “He’s definitely gotta hard ass, I just wanna grab hold and-“

 

John smirks at the lascivious look Derek directs towards his ass.  However, there’s no time to indulge, much as he wants to, playtime is over – before he does something stupid.  “No trying to seduce me.  Come on.  Off to work young man, before we’re late.”

 

“It was worth a shot.”  Derek huffs, passing John his weapon from the end of the table.  Buckling the belt securely so the holster sits low on his hip, he checks the chamber and clip before sliding the gun home, John watches as his boy does the same.

 

His hand automatically finds its place beneath Derek’s jacket at the hollow of his boy’s back as he guides him out of the loft.  Palm tingling feeling the heat radiating under his touch, John lets his thumb rub over the fabric to feel the solid muscle beneath. 

 

“Do you want to meet at the diner for lunch?”  Derek asks as he easily draws the gate of the freight elevator down.  The elevator lurches before it starts its descent, John leans back against the wall watching his boy mirror him on the opposite side.  He can’t help smiling at Derek, who quirks an eyebrow at him, it just feels so normal – talking about their upcoming day, planning ordinary things that don’t end in blood and violence or an exorcism. 

 

Shaking his head at Derek’s questioning look as he lifts up the gate again to the ground floor parking area.  “Sure.  I’ve got a meeting with the DA’s office about 11.30, so is one good for you?”  The rain has stopped and John raises his eyes to the sky.  A dark band of clouds is heading away from town and he can see some clear patches of blue opening up behind it.  It might dry out enough that there won’t be as many fender benders today brought on by slick roads and impatient drivers as he’d thought.

 

“Yeah, that’ll be-“  Derek breaks off abruptly.  John digs into his jacket pocket and pulls out his keys as he walks towards his SUV, suddenly aware that Derek’s no longer keeping step beside him.  Glancing back, John pauses, steps faltering.  There’s a distinct crackle in the atmosphere, a tension so fine and concentrated in his boy’s frame that it electrifies the very air around him.  Derek’s standing at least two paces behind him and is staring at the Camaro that’s parked next to his SUV.  Staring at it like he’s willing it to go up in flames.  Turning back to see what’s disturbing his boy so strongly, John winces.  There’s a large manila envelope on the windscreen clamped in place by the wipers.  So benign looking and yet John knows with a certainty that borders on divine precognition that he’s seriously not going to like what it contains.

 

“Derek.”  John says his name warningly when it looks like his Deputy is going to rush to the polished black muscle car, reminding him of procedure.  His hand automatically settles on his gun as he quickly scans the parking area.  Derek gives him a sharp look before scrutinising their surroundings with his enhanced senses.  A curt nod lets John know that his boy’s not picked up anyone lurking.  Even with his own limited ones he can see the parking area is fairly open with little to no cover, nowhere to hide, whoever left the envelope didn’t stick around to see their reaction to it.  Probably just as well, he thinks ruefully, hands stretching till his knuckles pop before they curl into tight fists.

 

Derek’s nostrils flare wide as he walks stiff-legged to the Camaro, his eyes flashing vivid blue as he inhales deeply, leaning in close to the soaking wet envelope but careful not to touch anything.  If John had any doubts as to who had left it they’re quickly gone as he witnesses the grimace of disgust that crosses Derek’s face, grooves lining either side of his mouth in a bitter frown.

 

John pulls out his phone, letting his thumb run over his contacts before pressing one.  Jordan answers after only a couple of rings.  While he’s talking, John doesn’t let his boy out of his sight a tight clutch of apprehension sitting heavily in his chest at the darkness that shadows Derek’s eyes as he paces back and forth, an edge to his movements that screams ‘predator’.  He’s never appreciated Jordan more as he listens to John’s orders with few questions and a calm that John normally possesses, but when it comes to Derek there’s nothing but a sick churning need in his gut to find this bastard and crush him.  Destroy him before he damages the younger man irrevocably.

 

Eventually, Derek stops pacing, turned slightly away from him, but not enough that he can’t see his profile.  Derek’s eyes are fixed on a point somewhere near the entrance to the parking lot, not so much as seeing John thinks, more looking inwards.  Moving towards him, John stands behind Derek, hand twitching with the need to reach out, to offer comfort without undermining whatever’s holding him together - knowing that sometimes kindness can destroy the very ground from beneath your feet when it’s rage and fury that makes it solid.  

 

“John.”  The growl of his name, husky and raw, makes him ache.

 

“Yeah babe.”  John moves closer until there’s only a matter of inches between them and he can feel the heat radiating from Derek’s body, can hear the throaty rumble of discontent.

 

“I just want to-“  Derek’s voice cracks and John can see his hands clench into tight fists at his sides as he takes a shuddering breath to regain his composure and starts again.  “Whatever’s in that envelope…it’s not me.  It’s not who I am now.  You know that, right?”

 

It’s the taut line of his shoulders, the way he cocks his head just so that John recognises and knows that he’s focusing on his heartbeat that has John succumbing.  Instinctively, his hand wraps around Derek’s nape and he feels him loosen like all the vicious tension that’s coiled every muscle tight has been swept away by his touch, he draws him in and lets the bigger, stronger man bury his face into the side of his neck and simply breathe.

 

“I know.  I know who you are baby.”  John murmurs.  Tilting Derek’s head he kisses him.  Kisses him with soft lips and gentle pressure.  Kisses him with aching tenderness as he feels a hitching cry crash and break against his mouth and he catches the gathering storm in Derek with his teeth and tongue.  Lets his boy plunder his mouth deep, suckle and bite at his lips brutally.  Lets him grip him tight and use him as an anchor until they’re breathless and panting, forehead to forehead, hands clutching at each other as though afraid they’ll be swept away.

 

How long they stand together, John doesn’t really know or care, but as Jordan pulls up behind his SUV he’s pretty sure his efficient and reliable Deputy isn’t that quick in gathering the evidence kit and equipment they need from the Department, so it’s been a while.  Derek takes a step back, putting some distance between them and John’s hand falls away from where he’s been petting and stroking the short hair at the back of his boy’s neck.  Worry and pride war within him as he sees the mask that Derek used to wear when he first came back to Beacon Hills slip back into place, the stoic grim visage of a man ready to do what needs to be done fuelled by a dark and brooding fury.  He’s pretty sure his is just as determined, but the way his lips feel puffy and bruised might negate the effect somewhat.

 

Before John can blink, Derek’s at Jordan’s side and he can’t quite make out what his boy is saying to his second favourite Deputy, but there’s a moment when Jordan’s head snaps back in surprise and his eyes widen as he listens intently.  Derek’s back is a stiff line as he lets Jordan absorb whatever he’s told him and John wants to go over there so badly and sort things out for his boy…yet he can’t.  He’s watched them become good friends over the years, get so close that he’d actually started to feel jealous of their relationship, and he knows that this is something that only they can work out between themselves. 

 

After what must only be 5 minutes of conversation between the two, but feels much longer, Jordan reaches up and places his hand on Derek’s shoulder, steely determination in his expression.  John can feel his own tension ratchet down a notch or two. 

 

“Sheriff.”  Jordan greets him as both his Deputies stand in front of him, waiting for orders. 

 

“Parrish.”  John nods his head in return.  “You made good time.”  Somehow, it’s easier to be professional in dealing with this in an official capacity as Sheriff Stilinski rather than a personal one as John Stilinski and he’s grateful that Jordan’s treating it and him that way.

 

“Is it possible this is something else?”  Jordan waves a hand towards the envelope placed menacingly under the wiper.

 

“Possible.”  John wishes it was, so he didn’t have to witness the pinched look around Derek’s mouth and the bleakness in his eyes, but it’s too close to the phone call to be a coincidence.  Jordan doesn’t reply, obviously picking up on what John’s not saying.

 

“I want this processed like any other scene.  Everything and I mean everything to be documented, examined and dealt with to the highest protocols.  No skipping.”   John is grimly satisfied when both men nod in agreement, not that he really had any doubts in their abilities or professionalism.  “Hale, see if you can pick up a scent trail and follow his movements.  If there’s anything he left behind…a cigarette, gum, spit - anything at all, I want it bagged and tagged.  Parrish, I want a complete dust of the envelope, the Camaro and my SUV before the water dries up and distorts any possible prints then photograph the entire area…everything from every angle.  It’s not gonna be easy after this rainfall, but do your best.”

 

Instantly both men are in motion.  Jordan opens the kit at his feet and pulls out the SPR (Small Particle Reagent) spray bottle for dusting, Derek begins a sweep of the parking area – pausing every now and then as something catches his attention.

 

Satisfied, John moves to one side and pulls out his phone and dials a number from memory.  Glancing at his watch he frowns, hopes it’s not so early that it won’t get picked up.  When the faint click comes and he hears the rustle of fabric and the dragged out yawn before a sleepy ‘Yeah’, he’s relieved.

 

“I need your help.”   

 

 

The back of Derek’s throat is dry, feeling scratchy and raw when he tries to swallow.  He’s pretty sure he doesn’t have a lick of spit in his entire mouth.  Nerves and adrenaline are sending a buzz through his veins and not the good kind, this is ants crawling under his skin and he wants to scratch away the itch with his claws.  Derek fights the impulse, he’s already shredded two sets of latex gloves while searching for evidence from his claws popping out unwillingly whenever he finds remnants of that bitter toxic scent. 

 

Two pairs of eyes watch his every movement as he picks up the envelope carefully between two fingers, there’s no prints on the outside, but that’s not to say that his stalker hadn’t made a mistake and left something on the inside.  Stalker.  Derek swallows thickly, the first time he’s been able to acknowledge and name what’s happening to him.  His eyes flick towards John who nods encouragingly at him and Jordan who gives him a strained half-smile and it’s then he realises this isn’t just happening to him, but to the people he loves and who love him. 

 

That Jordan still looks at him the same way he always has, without disgust or pity, makes his chest hurt and his throat tight. 

 

John’s steadfast and resolute expression gives him strength as he carefully opens the unsealed flap with hands that are surprisingly steady.

 

When nothing happens he can’t help the little snort of hysteria that escapes because he doesn’t know what he expected, for it to blow up in their faces or something, but it’s only an envelope.  Peeking inside Derek’s stomach lurches.  He expected something vile, something degrading and it is that, there’s no denying it, but the pornographic image that he can see on the damp fragile paper is nothing compared to the words he can make out.

 

Sliding the sheet out, the blood thunders in his ears and Derek can hear John swear vehemently and Jordan’s hiss of dismay as though from a distance.

 

The sheet is a standard copy size with a photo image printed on it.  Scanning the image he searches for anything identifiable in the background or on the tan casual pants that are visible, not letting his eyes drift to the centre of the photo.  Eventually, he has to look, has to acknowledge what this sick fuck has sent him.  An erect penis emerges from the open fly, it’s average – smaller than some, bigger than others he’s seen and taken in his mouth - come dripping down the pink flushed shaft.  The same come that smears red puffy swollen lips and a lightly fuzzed chin.

 

Bile burns as it rolls up into his throat.  The image has been cropped so there’s nothing to distinguish who the boy is that has his face so close to this man’s dick.  That it is a boy Derek has no doubt.  There’s something in the curve of his jaw, the unlined skin sprinkled with fine almost invisible hair and the vulnerability of a tender Adam’s Apple that speaks of youth and adolescence.

 

Derek blinks rapidly trying to clear his vision as the words in standard black font beneath the photo start to blur. 

 

**_See what you do to me, just the sound of your voice and I come.  None of them compare to you.  I’ve missed you, remember me._ **

****

Somehow he manages to place the evidence - he has to think of it in that light or else it would be shredded – carefully onto the hood of his car.  Blindly, Derek turns away tearing off the gloves viciously and walks to the far side of the parking lot.  Hands splayed against the wall, he leans in, head hanging low and sucks in deep, heaving breaths to try and fight down the urge to throw up.  In, out, pause.  In, out, pause.  He repeats it over and over until the feeling passes.

 

The hand that rubs between his shoulder blades is so unexpected, Derek jerks startled, whirling around with fangs dropped and claws extended ready to tear and rend.  John pulls his hand back and lifts both into the air in appeasement, the shift in his vision to monochrome lets him know that he’s flashing blue eyes at his Alpha mate in challenge.  Wincing, Derek pulls the wolf back, lets the rumbling growl throttle back into his throat.

 

“Sorry.”  He manages to gasp out, heart thundering a rapid base in his chest.

 

“My bad.”  John drops his hands to his sides and Derek wishes with all that he is that they were touching him once more.  “Usually, you hear me coming.”

 

“Not today.”  Over John’s shoulder, Derek sees that Jordan’s dusting the sheet for prints, he doubts he’ll find any.  This guy is too smart to slip like that.  “Not today.”  He repeats harshly.

 

John scrutinises him closely before saying.  “Are you up for going in?” 

 

Derek nods automatically, a part of him pleased that John is asking what he wants and by the soft ‘Okay’ in response that he’s willing to accept Derek’s decision without argument. 

 

“But, I want you on desk duty for today.”  John’s hands settle on his hips, thumbs hooking over his gunbelt.  “Not because I don’t think you can handle it.”  He says before Derek can protest and takes a step into Derek’s space, their chests practically brushing against each other’s, glancing over his shoulder at where Jordan is fully occupied with his work before saying quietly.  “I need to know that you’re safe otherwise I-“

 

John grimaces.  “First the phone call and now this.”  He places his warm hand on Derek’s chest right over his heart and stares at it with an expression that Derek can’t quite decipher.  “He knows where you work, your car, where you live and what he wrote…there’s something off about it and the kid in the photo-“   John shakes his head in worry and disgust.

 

Derek covers John’s hand where it rests on his chest, pressing lightly against it, feeling the vibration of his own heartbeat through their hands and letting the heat seep through his uniform shirt and into his skin.  It’s soothing, easing the tightly wound tangle of emotions that sits heavy inside him.  Seeing the concern on John’s face makes it so very easy for Derek to accept what he’s asking.  Usually, whether his Alpha mate is in uniform or not, his aura of natural authority, strength and determination is pleasing to Derek’s wolf, it makes him want to bare his throat and submit in every way possible, but right now there’s a vulnerability to John that he strangely finds equally pleasing – the proof that they’re mates in every sense of the word, for a wolf is never more vulnerable when its mate or cubs are under attack.  Vulnerable it’s true and yet still terrifyingly ferocious in their need to defend and protect.  The darkness that looks out of John’s eyes at the moment promises violent punishment and lethal retribution on this unknown threat.

 

Derek leans forward and nuzzles John’s cheek with his own, lets himself drown in the rich scent of his Alpha mate layered over by the lingering scents of coffee, honey and sex that cling to his skin, unable to resist Derek drags his mouth over the hard line of John’s jaw in a fleeting kiss.  The darkness that shadows John’s eyes fades and the stern line of his mouth softens.

 

“We’ll work this out.”  John says with a certainty that is reassuring.

 

So far Derek’s been keeping a tight rein on his emotions, clamping down so hard he feels almost brittle, not wanting to share that fragility with his Alpha mate.  Derek reaches for the bond between them that seems to have settled deep in his core and gathers all the love and trust he has for this man and pushes it through that connection. 

 

 _“Derek.”_   John gasps his name and sways slightly towards him before Derek staggers under a surging rush of feeling thrust back at him in return.  He blinks rapidly in surprise, not by the equal love and trust that John has for him, but by the pride and awe that underscores it so very clearly.  Derek leans forward overwhelmed, breathing ragged, and rests his forehead against John’s.

 

“I’m never letting you go.”  John whispers into the barely there space between their mouths.  He can feel the puff of air against his lips with every word John says. 

 

“Good, because I wouldn’t let you.”  Derek whispers back.

 

 

John settles back in his chair and watches Jordan and Derek sit down in the two chairs on the other side of his desk.  The office door is firmly closed and he knows that they won’t be disturbed or overheard by the rest of his officers.  The two men look outwardly composed even though they’re facing something so painfully personal, John’s never been prouder of them, particularly Derek and how he’s handling what surely must be a blow to all the progress he’s made over the past months of therapy. 

 

“So, no prints at all?”  John questions.  Parrish shakes his head.

 

“None.  He must’ve worn gloves.”  Parrish’s lips purse in disappointment.  “No partials.  Not even a smear.  We’re lucky that the envelope is a better quality one because its thicker it protected the paper inside a lot more than I expected after all that rainfall.  There’s some slight staining to it, but most of the image and the words are pretty much intact and undamaged.”

 

“Anyway we can follow up with the manufacturer as to who and where they supply those envelopes to?” 

 

“Already checked into it and they maybe better quality than the cheaper stuff out there, but they’re still stocked in most of the major retail chains across the country.”  Parrish replies.

 

John looks to his boy.  “And no physical evidence either?”

 

Derek’s lips turn down in a fierce scowl.  “No.  There was no trace, apart from that scent which had already started to break down due to the rain, so even if Scott came back to scent the area with his Alpha senses it wouldn’t be a true sample.” 

 

“If it was breaking down, how can you tell if it was the same scent?”  John asks curiously.

 

Derek’s brows draw together in a frown as he takes his time to answer, using what John thinks must be his enhanced werewolf scent memory to compare.  “It was different to what I remember at the restaurant, which could be due to exposure to the elements.”  He nods slowly.  “But, there’s an underlying base scent unique to an individual or sometimes close family members that doesn’t change and it was definitely there.”

 

“You’d recognise it again?” 

 

Derek grimaces.  “There’s no way I’d forget it.” 

 

Much as sometimes John envies the wolves of his pack at their abilities, right now he’s pretty happy not to be able to smell whatever it is that puts that look of revulsion on his boy’s face.

 

With a sigh, he rubs his hand over the back of his neck in frustration.  When his phone starts to buzz John quickly snatches it up checking the number and swipes over the screen to accept the call he’s been waiting for, putting it onto speaker.

 

“Hello.”  John raises his hand as the other two men start to shift in their seats to leave.  Stopping they sit on the edge of their chairs making no effort to disguise that they’re now listening to the conversation intently, Derek’s eyes widen slightly when he recognises the voice.

 

“Hey brah.”  Mac’s voice is relaxed and lilting and John can tell he’s smiling even if he can’t see him.  “Got that intel you wanted.”

 

“Great, let’s have it.”  John’s impatience getting the better of his manners.

 

“Carter Reynolds, 25.  Old money family, well-known name in Washington circles.  Son of Nathan Reynolds, millionaire venture capitalist and grandson of Congressman Michael Reynolds.  Graduate of Harvard Business School and currently living and working in New York for Sanderson & Boult, an Investment Bank.  Couple of priors when he was a student, possession and driving under the influence, dealt with quickly by the Reynolds family lawyer.  More seriously, a couple of years ago he was accused of stalking and harassment of a Junior Exec at the Brokerage he worked at previously.  It all disappeared when she left to take a promotion at a company that Nathan Reynolds has a significant interest in."  Mac's voice is contained and professional as he gives them the information and John can feel his pulse accelerate in anticipation of closing in on this creep as he listens.

 

"Other than that, fairly ordinary.  Single, has only had one long term relationship back in his Harvard days – an amicable split, owns an apartment in a good area, makes plenty of money and likes to party.  A regular on the club scene and a member of a couple of private ones on the fringes of hard-core bdsm.  He hooks up with men and women indiscriminately and this is direct from a source _‘he’s a bastard, you know boot on the back of the neck kinda guy, into humiliation particularly if his partner isn’t – the more ashamed they are the more he gets off’_.”  John's stomach lurches sickeningly.  Glancing discreetly at his boy, he sees the way Derek’s jaw bulges as he clenches his teeth and can only hope that while the talk of humiliation and shame may be disturbing, it’s not harmful to his boy.

 

“One thing though…this guy, Carter Reynolds, left the state a week ago.”  John can feel his eyebrows lift in surprise as his eyes meet Derek’s.

 

“Confirmed?” 

 

“Yeah.  Got pictures from the security feed when he arrived at JFK.” 

 

John huffs out an annoyed breath.  “Doesn’t mean he’s still there, he could’ve doubled back.” 

 

“Sorry brah, gotta friend who owes me a favour.  He’s got eyes on him right now having an early lunch with a client in one of the swankiest restaurants in New York.  I can send you the live stream if you want.”

 

“Shit.”  John curses, wishing he could hit something right now.  Considering what time Derek had gotten home last night the envelope had to have been planted in the early hours of the morning, there’s no way that Reynolds could’ve done that and flown back to New York in time for lunch today.  “Can you send me the images asap?  Thanks for checking this out Mac I appreciate it.”

 

“On it and no problem brah.  You and your ohana need any help of any sort just let me know.”  Mac’s voice rumbles through the tiny phone and there’s an edge to it that sends a chill over the back of John’s neck and he knows that Mac is offering more than off the books security checks and surveillance through his black ops contacts, a more permanent solution can easily be arranged.

 

“I’ll let you know.”  John fixes Derek with an implacable stare taking in the wide eyes and tense line of his boy’s shoulders, Derek clearly heard the same offer in Mac’s tone that he did.

 

John leaves the phone on the desk after Mac simply hangs up on him before the urge to throw it is almost more than he can resist.

 

“He could’ve arranged for someone to leave it there.”  Jordan breaks the looming silence.

 

“But, there were traces of that scent around the parking bay and not just on the envelope, so how the hell did he plant it when he’s on the other side of the country now.” 

 

John shakes his head, hearing the frustration in his boy’s gruff tone.  “I know it’s impossible, but there’s something about this-“  He stabs a finger down onto the sealed plastic bag that contains the photo that lays in front of him, turned upside down because he couldn’t stand to see it anymore.  “-the way it’s worded, it’s…it’s personal.  I don’t think that this person would entrust anyone else to leave it.”

 

 _“I’ve missed you, remember me.”_   Jordan repeats.  “It sounds…intimate, like he knows you or thinks he knows you.” 

 

“But, I don’t.”  Derek growls.  “That night at the restaurant…the only people I knew were the Whittemores, it was the first time I’ve seen this guy.”

 

“Are you sure?  You know…that you didn’t…that you haven’t-“  John sighs heavily, there’s no way to word this politely.  “Are you sure that you’ve not been with him…not even once?”

 

Derek’s face is rigid.  Jordan’s expression is carefully neutral, although John can see the faintest twitch at the corner of one eye, can feel an echo of it in the way his own leg won’t stop jumping beneath the desktop.

 

“Not even once.”  Derek grinds out and John winces at the chill that rolls off his boy in his direction.

 

Jordan shifts uncomfortably at the atmosphere and John’s grateful for the distraction as he quickly inserts “We’ve gotta work out how he was able to bounce from one side of the country to the other within a matter of hours.” 

 

Which is a hell of a puzzle, John thinks, but right now there’s no clue to follow, no lead to chase up and he’s pretty near certain that there won’t be any cuddles or snuggling tonight going by the hairy eyeball that his boy is giving him.

 

Fuck it all to hell.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek's still struggling that John's had to question him about his past atonements in relation to his stalker which puts a strain on them both. While John has an epiphany about the direction of their relationship and they receive an unexpected visitor at the worst time.

[If you're going through hell - Rodney Atkins](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sBKybUusyP8)

 

Derek nearly steers his shopping cart into the display stack of tinned tomatoes at the end of the aisle when John crouches down to grab the last bottle of extra virgin olive oil from the bottom shelf.   The little bounce as he rocks back on his heels has Derek struggling to choke back an appreciative growl at the snug fit of John’s jeans, swallowing hard he admires the denim stretched taut over John’s ass and his firm thighs. Warmth pools in his gut and his own pants feel suddenly way too tight, making him curse his own stubborn hide for holding out on John for so damn long and all because he got a little bit annoyed at the questions that John had asked after the discovery of the envelope and the photo it contained.  

 

He sighs faintly.  Guilt niggling at the back of his mind, because it was a legitimate question considering his history of casual encounters and John wouldn't have been doing his job if he hadn't asked if it was possible Carter Reynolds was one of them.  So was it fair to be a little bit annoyed at his Alpha mate? 

 

 _Sulking._ That's what Jordan called it and Derek winces inwardly because maybe, just this one time mind you, his friend is right.  Not that John had accused him of that, in fact he'd not changed at all.  Still touching him as frequently and as gently as before, still saying 'I love you' and all the other endearments that Derek's grown used to over time and never pushing or demanding more when Derek has brushed off his approaches for sex.  Not that he doubted John's desire for him.  After nearly a week without intimacy, John's scent and the new emotional connection between them leaked arousal and he seemed to have developed a sixth sense for whenever John watched him from his office at work, often catching him staring hungrily with hooded scorching eyes.

 

“Damn.”  John stands up looking down at the glass bottle of golden liquid in his hand.  “There’s only one left.”

 

“Looks like.”  Derek murmurs, appreciating how well the black button down shirt fits across John’s broad chest, the open collar exposing the corded strength of his neck.  John lifts an eyebrow at his admittedly vague reply and Derek tries to focus on the conversation and not fantasise about sliding his Alpha mate’s shirt off his wide shoulders and licking his collarbones.

 

“You don’t get it.”  He insists, waving the bottle at Derek.  “We’ve run out at both our places and this is the brand that Stiles was insistent that we had to use on pain of death.”

 

“Pain of death huh and what’s this ‘we’ business?”  Derek struggles to keep a straight face at the moue of disgruntlement that John makes before continuing.

 

“Okay maybe not death, but he definitely threatened to do all of our grocery shopping online if we didn’t-“  John rolls his eyes at Derek’s exaggerated cough.  “-yeah, yeah alright…if **_I_** didn’t at least try to follow his eating plan and there’s no way that’s happening, because believe me that’s as good as death.”

 

“Come on, it might not be that bad.”  Even as he says it, Derek winces. Late night shopping after their shifts may be a chore, but at least if he shops himself he can scent out the freshest cuts of meat and select the best fruits and vegetables that aren’t over ripe or verging on going bad.

 

“One word.  Tofu.”

 

Derek pulls a face, because ew…yeah that’s pretty gross.  “That’s technically three.”  He can’t help but point out trying to stop his lips from twitching in amusement, not too successfully going by John’s raised eyebrow.  “Okay I hear you, I don’t want tofu either.”

 

John stares at the bottle in his hand for so long that Derek zones out a little, letting his gaze drift over the broad shoulders, corded forearms and strong sturdy fingers of his Alpha mate.  Ass clenching at the thought of those fingers pressing into his hole and filling him up.  

 

He’s startled out of his daydream when John says abruptly “There’s only one, but we need 2.”

 

Derek’s not sure if John’s asking a question or even expecting an answer, but it feels like he should say something.  “We can ask…they may have more out the back.” 

 

“But, what if I really only want one?”

 

Derek shrugs uncertainly.  John’s expression is one that he can’t quite decipher, eyes narrowed and lips pursed deep in thought, it’s unsettling.  His Alpha mate’s scent is threaded with an almost sickly sourness of fear that has him instantly on alert, a whine caught at the back of his throat when he picks up the sharp burst of citrus that signals a shot of adrenaline is coursing through John’s system and underlying it all the rich, creamy vanilla of satisfaction and contentment.  It’s weird and conflicted and makes his wolf stir restlessly under his skin.  Maybe the strain of the last week since the photo had been left on his car was getting too much.  No evidence, no leads and a prime suspect who is clear across the country.  It’s enough to drive anyone crazy.

 

“Uh…that’s good then.”  Derek shuffles his feet, feeling antsy and not even sure why.  “Right?”

 

John nods to himself like he’s decided something and stalks towards Derek with such unexpected determination in his whole demeanour that his already skittish wolf has him backing up against the shelves.  With nowhere to go, they’re standing so close that Derek can feel the small static charge from the friction of their cotton shirts brushing together with every breath.

 

“Derek, I only want one with you.”  John says, blue eyes glittering hotly with the focused intensity that he normally reserves for the bedroom.  Derek’s body reacts instinctively, his pants getting increasingly tighter as his cock starts to push against his zipper.  He can feel a bead of sweat trickle uncomfortably from the nape of his neck running under his collar and down his spine. 

 

Confused and turned on in equal measure, Derek breaks.  “What the hell are you talking about John?”

 

If he has to describe the look that John turns upon him then it would be nervous almost bordering on shy which while unusual to see in someone so commanding and confident makes it all the more endearing.  Derek opens himself up to feeling what John is, but the other man’s holding back.  In the week since they’d discovered this connection between them, they’d quickly realised that they needed to keep it under control as experiencing frequent bursts of arousal from each other at work on top of their own, had them constantly quivering on the edge.  Aching cocks, damp underwear and constant frustration had strained tempers and forced them to learn to filter their emotions in a hurry.  How the hell he'd been able to deny John anything is a mystery to Derek.

 

His Alpha mate takes a deep breath.

 

 _“Iwantustomoveintogether.”_   John says in a giddy rush and of all the times to be reminded of his best friend in the familiar roundabout way he’s gotten to the point, Derek almost misses what the older man says, having to take a moment to suck in a shaky breath and absorb it.

 

“We near enough live together as it is.”  Derek questions hesitantly, trying to ignore the ball of warmth slowly unfurling from deep in his belly and spreading throughout his whole body, not wanting to misunderstand.

 

“No…I mean our own place.  Not the house, not the loft.  Ours.  Yours and mine, baby.”  John leans in, lips brushing over the corner of Derek’s mouth.  “With no history, no memories except for the ones we make there.  Together, every day and every night.”

 

“Oh.”  Derek croaks.  Stunned by how badly he wants this, his tongue feeling thick and clumsy behind his teeth, he sees the hopeful expression on his Alpha mate’s face and thinks it's more hopeful and desperate now than when he'd been asking for sex this week.  Blue eyes sparkling, mouth smiling widely causing the laugh lines to etch deeper into his flushed skin as he waits for his answer.  He’s always thought of John as a handsome man, but right now Derek feels mesmerised by the raw masculine beauty that is John.  His Alpha mate, his lover.

 

“Yes.”  Derek snaps out.  Blinking almost dazedly at the idea of having a real home for the first time in so very long with this man.  “Yes, yes.”  He repeats, starting to laugh uncontrollably, happiness fizzing delightfully through his veins until he feels almost light headed.  Wrapping his arms in a tight hug around John he can’t help himself and lifts the other man off his feet, laughing even louder at the shock then amusement that crosses his Alpha mate’s face at his display of strength.  John cups his face in both hands and kisses him.

 

It’s a kiss of such passionate joy that Derek is lost.  Lost to the need to be alone with John.  He pushes the nearly empty shopping trolley to one side and marches down the aisle and through the exit carrying John pressed tight to his chest, their lips still locked together – he tries to pull back, dimly aware of passing a few other late night shoppers and check out staff, but John doesn’t let him, chasing his mouth hungrily.  There’s a couple of whistles and catcalls which he ignores, his sole focus is John – the feel and the taste of him makes his heart thunder in his chest and his stomach swoop wildly with anticipation.

 

It’s much later when Derek sprawls exhausted over John’s chest, pants tangled around his ankles and warm come starting to ooze out of his well-fucked hole that he’s able to think clearly.  The hallway’s polished wooden floor is hard under his hip and the family photos of John, Claudia and Stiles that line the walls seem to stare down accusingly at the streaks of his come that mark it.

 

“At least we remembered to shut the front door this time.”  John mutters under his breath. Derek snorts, looking down the length of their bodies towards the closed door.  They’d only just made it.  John’s jeans are shoved down around his thighs – his well-sated and slowly softening cock glistening with come and lube. 

 

"I'm sorry."  John murmurs into his hair.  "But, I had to know."

 

It's not that John's not apologised during this long week, he has, but it's the first time that Derek's been able to listen without remembering that sickening feeling when his Alpha mate asked him about the people he's been with in the past.  He's always known that there would come a time, he'd hoped that it would be much, much later in the course of their relationship, preferably never.  Derek nods his head in acceptance, his cheek brushing over the soft fabric of John's shirt feeling the still rapid beat of John's heart against his flesh.

 

If Derek was to describe the soft noise that John makes, he would call it a sigh of relief

 

A shudder passes through Derek’s frame when John’s warm hand strokes over his ass, curving around one of his cheeks, cupping it gently before letting two long fingers slide through the mix of fluids to bury them deep in his hole.  Derek’s breathing goes shaky because even with werewolf healing he’s still sensitive back there, but John doesn’t finger fuck him or scissor him open even wider, just lets them rest inside him in a claim that is so hot and starkly possessive that Derek can feel his dick twitch in renewed interest.

 

“What about Stiles?”  Derek forces himself to ask, his friend and pack mate’s intelligent, curious eyes in many of the photos feel like they’re burning into him. 

 

“I’m going to speak to him about it as soon as I can.”  Regardless of how vague his question is, that John picks up on the direction of his thoughts isn’t a surprise, not only are they in tune with each other emotionally, it sometimes feels like John’s aware of what he’s thinking well before he does.  It can be disconcerting at times, but he likes the feeling that John knows him so well. 

 

Dipping his head, his fingers lift Derek’s chin so their eyes meet.  “We’ve held onto this house for a long time trying to hold onto a memory, a feeling…it’s time.  I’m going to offer it to the kids if they want it and if not then I’ll put it on the market, let another family have a chance to be happy here.”

 

Derek nods in understanding.  God knows, he understands all too well.  The Hale house would probably still be standing in ruins if the authorities hadn’t pulled it down and even though the decision was forced upon him due to his absence he recognises that it was the right one.

 

“That’s a good idea.”  Derek mulls over the idea thoughtfully, although he still can’t help worrying that Stiles will think things are changing and moving too fast and be upset.

 

“Stiles is a grown man now, he’ll cope.  I think you’ll be surprised at how well.”  John says with a certainty that’s reassuring and Derek can only hope he’s right.

 

 

 

Derek traps his phone between his shoulder and ear as he uses both hands to lift the freight elevator’s gate up as he listens intently to his Alpha mate. 

 

“I think it’s gonna be a late night.”  John huffs in resignation and Derek winces in sympathy.  He doesn’t envy this part of John’s job at all, Beacon Hill’s council meetings could often drag out more often than not because Mayor Whittemore seemed to like the sound of his own voice than for any other official reason.

 

“Okay.  Come around when you’re done, we’ll have a late dinner.  Thai ok?”  Derek steps onto the landing outside of his loft and freezes.  The two men who are waiting by his door visibly straighten to their full height, shoulders back unconsciously bracing themselves at his arrival.  The surprise is so great that he knows he’s gawping, mouth open, but he can’t help it. 

 

“Derek…Derek?”  The sound of John’s voice calling his name snaps him out of his daze.

 

“Yeah John.”  He manages to choke out, unblinking.  “It’s okay.  Scott’s here, just caught me by surprise.”  Scott shrugs sheepishly as Derek says his goodbyes to his Alpha mate, determinedly unembarrassed by the final exchange of endearments before he hangs up. Both visitor’s eyes widening before Scott’s approving smile stretches his cheeks to breaking point with its radiance.

 

Not knowing what to say Derek slips his phone into his jacket pocket with a slightly shaking hand.

 

“Scott…”  Derek breathes deep, worried that he’s somehow going to fuck this up.  “Isaac.” 

 

His young Beta…former Beta looks good.  For some reason Derek had pictured Isaac as a poor, emaciated waif living a hand to mouth existence in the backstreets of whatever European city he found himself in – maybe because of the number of times he’d received calls demanding money – this Isaac looks fit and healthy and the clothes that he’s wearing with casual elegance are definitely couture.  The younger man is still as beautiful as ever, the carved blades of his cheekbones and the angular line of his jaw combined with deliberately tousled hair would make anyone who didn’t know him think of angels.

 

“Derek.”  Isaac acknowledges, and Derek tries to hold in the wince at the sound of his name spoken so coolly.   Scott’s mouth turns down at the corners and he shakes his head, casting Isaac a look that Derek can’t quite interpret as the young man’s lips clamp down in a grim line in response.

 

“I’m sorry I should’ve called first.”  Derek’s too shocked to give his Alpha the glare that comment deserves, because hell yes it would’ve been nice to get a heads up that his past was going to turn up on his doorstep.  “It didn’t occur to me that you wouldn’t pick up our scent by us using the back stairs.”  Scott is so determinedly ‘up’ that it would be disturbing if Derek didn’t know him so well and gets the feeling his Alpha has been just as blindsided by Isaac’s return as he is.  “Isaac’s just flown in from Rome…unexpectedly…and he’s asked if he can stay in the territory for a while...maybe reconnect with the pack.” 

 

Derek has to fight the twitch of his eyebrow at the deliberate choice of words Scott uses, it finally seems as though his Alpha is learning diplomacy.  What’s unspoken is Scott asking for Derek’s opinion as his second, as his right hand, as to whether it’s a good idea and he can’t deny it’s so very satisfying after all those times in the early years where Scott would’ve rather poked himself in the eye with a blunt stick than listen to anything Derek had to say. 

 

Moving past the two men towards the door of his loft, pushing down the flutter of butterflies in his belly, Derek throws over his shoulder as casually as he can.  “It’s been a long day and I don’t know about you guys, but I could do with some caffeine.”

 

Unlocking the door, he can almost feel the silent conversation going on behind him at his invitation.  His shoulders hitch involuntarily when it’s Isaac that replies.  “Yeah, thanks.”

 

The words are spoken stiffly, but there’s no animosity in them that Derek can discern and the tightness in his chest that had formed on seeing Isaac for the first time in years, loosens slightly.

 

“I can’t believe you still live in this dump.”  Isaac sneers as Derek slides the heavy door open and waves them through first, he’s aware of Scott stooping to pick something up off the floor, but such is his focus on Isaac and the way he sucks in a harsh breath - his mouth gaping as he looks around at the loft - that he ignores it for the moment.  He can’t deny how different it is to what Isaac probably remembers, how warm and inviting instead of cold and Spartan.  Thick natural fibre rugs cover the polished concrete floors and the large couch that is angled for entertaining, to allow anyone sitting on it to view both the large flat screen and the modern kitchen, is ridiculously wide and well-padded. 

 

The coffee table in front of the couch still has the chessboard set up with his and John’s current game still in play.

 

“This is-“  Isaac breaks off, shaking his head as he walks slowly down the steps, eyes wide as he lets his hand trail over the soft fabric of the couch.  Inhaling deeply, Isaac lifts a mocking eyebrow and Derek is suddenly all too aware of how the loft smells of himself and his Alpha mate…together.  Derek meets Isaac’s eyes not backing down, ignoring the warmth that blooms on his cheeks, until Isaac snorts faintly and turns away to look at the rest of the loft space.  He can hear the other man swallow heavily when he sees the strip of photos that sits in a simple black frame on the huge bookcase against one wall.  Seemingly drawn to it beyond his control, Isaac holds the frame carefully and stares at the images for a long time.

 

Derek doesn’t interrupt neither does Scott although he hears a high-pitched keen of sympathy from his pack Alpha at the pervasive bitterness of grief that floods the loft space and struggles not to join in, unsure if Isaac would welcome it from himself.

 

“I didn’t know you had this.”  Isaac says hoarsely.  Derek nods as he stands at Isaac’s shoulder, careful not to touch, and looks down at the strip of photos of his long-ago pack, the only record he has of them.  The four of them are crammed into a photo booth and to this day Derek can’t even begin to comprehend how Erica managed to convince them in the midst of searching for the Kanima that it would be fun.  The first shot has Erica’s back to the camera and for a big guy Boyd’s surprisingly hidden in the corner only his closed eyes visible over the top of Erica’s golden mane, while Derek’s wearing a grimace at having Isaac’s elbow in his cheek as he tries to back in and squeeze into the small space.

 

The next couple are blurred as they obviously struggle to get more comfortable until knees and elbows are tucked in and the last shot has all his Beta’s smiling – Erica with a strange blend of coyness and vulnerability, Boyd’s faint but visible as he leans tentatively into Derek’s side and the younger version of the man standing next to him now has his teeth bared in a cocky lip curling half-smile - their gazes are angled away from the lens to stop the reflective glare of their eyes. 

 

His beautiful damaged pack.  God, how he misses them.

 

Derek’s examined this last frame so closely over the years that he’s able to ignore his own image as though it doesn’t exist anymore, not able to stand seeing the stern mask he’d felt compelled to wear to hide the doubt and fear of not knowing what the hell he was doing from his own pack.  He wonders now if things would’ve been much different if he’d admitted that to them from the start, whether they would’ve accepted the bite.  Whether they would’ve stayed.

 

“She could talk anyone into doing what she wanted.”  Isaac traces a finger over her image. “And if she couldn’t she’d bully and push until she got her own way.”

 

Derek snorts in amusement and agreement.  “I think for the first time in her life she felt strong.  She was powerful and she couldn’t see a reason to deny herself what she wanted.”

 

Isaac turns to him with a genuine smile that makes Derek’s chest ache.  “And what she wanted was Boyd.  Although there was a time when I thought she was making a play for you.”

 

Derek shakes his head.  “No.  I was merely an instrument in her plot to motivate Boyd towards her way of thinking.”

 

“He didn’t know what hit him.”  His gaze drifting back to the photo Isaac laughs softly, with none of the grating mockery that Derek’s become accustomed to over recent times.  “He was a good man…a good second for you.”

 

“Yes he was.  Better than I hoped for and more than I deserved.  You all were.”  Isaac stares at him for an agonising moment before thrusting the frame at him with a snarl, stalking off to look out the large window, the line of his back stiff and his shoulders tense.  Derek slowly puts it back into place on the shelf, conscious that the younger man’s lips had twisted bitterly with pain, anger and pleasure at the praise.  Praise that Derek wishes he’d had the balls to give to all of them so long ago.    

 

Afraid that dwelling on his regrets will trigger his PTSD, Derek turns determinedly toward the kitchen.  “How about that coffee?”

 

He catches Scott’s eye in passing and gives his Alpha the barest nod of assent and a relieved smile breaks through the transparent concern etched into his friend’s face.  He wishes he could reassure Scott that everything will work out between he and Isaac, but he can’t, there’s too much history – good and bad – for even his Alpha to believe that it won’t be a hard road to even the most basic of reconciliations.  It’s enough at the moment that they’re willing to try.

 

For the first time he sees the envelope in Scott’s hand and he stumbles trying to convince himself it’s not the same as the last one.

 

“Where did you get that?”  Derek grinds out, heart racing as he points at the envelope.

 

“It was on the floor…someone must’ve slipped it under the door for you.”  Scott moves towards him worriedly and Derek jerks back violently, not wanting to touch it, not wanting to scent that godawful smell again.  “Derek…what is it?  What’s wrong?”

 

“Can you scent anything on it?”  Derek’s aware that Isaac’s moved up beside him, puzzled yet alert, obviously picking up on his distress…and it is distress Derek realises trying to suppress the sick churning of his stomach that makes him feel like he wants to puke as he watches Scott lift the envelope to his nose, close his eyes and inhale deeply.

 

“Afraid Derek?”  Isaac taunts, his smirk ugly. “I see nothing’s changed.”

 

Derek ignores him only distantly aware that the vicious smugness disappears in an instant on a sharp exhale when Scott growls in warning, the rumbling from deep within his chest as loud as an engine. 

 

“To respect me is to respect my Second, remember that if you wish to be welcomed into this territory Omega.”  Scott’s formal rebuke as Pack Alpha isn’t diminished in anyway when the argumentative, stubborn teenager that Derek remembers surfaces again, snarling “Now shut it or get out.” 

 

The red flares bright and fierce in Scott’s eyes before quickly receding as he turns away from the shocked stare of his former friend and rival.  The stunned realisation of what Scott and Derek are to each other now, the protective stance that the Alpha takes in front of his pack mate – his Second, is all too clear on Isaac’s face.  Wide eyed and mouth formed into a large ‘O’.   Pride at his Alpha’s defence blooms and swells in his chest and it takes a moment for Derek to absorb that pleasure and to be able to turn his attention back to the envelope that Scott still holds.

 

“Reminds me of Mom…the gloves she wears at the hospital, latex.”  Derek curses inwardly knowing that it’s doubtful they’ll find any prints on the envelope like last time.  “Sweat…it’s musky, definitely male and there’s something else…”  Scott’s face screws up in concentration as he tries to interpret what his senses are telling him.  “Horses, they’ve been in regular contact with horses…I can smell them, hay and old leather, it must be their tack.”

 

Derek’s mind races as he realises that Scott’s picked out one of the baselines of the scent that he’s never been fully able to identify.  He’d known it was an animal, but not having been around horses before he’d never known exactly what it was.  That Scott’s been able to work with animals that should fear him as a predator doesn’t surprise Derek in the slightest.  There’s an innocence to Scott, an inherent goodness to his character somewhat battered by past events, but still so powerfully strong that if all the woodland creatures started to gather around his pack Alpha and burst into song like a Disney movie it would not be out of place.

 

“There’s another part here that’s really strong…woody, but sweet.  I don’t know what it is.”  Scott says apologetically as he opens his eyes. 

 

“Can I?”  Isaac asks Derek.  That Isaac is asking him for permission rather than Scott sends a rush of wary confusion through him, he flicks a glance towards his Alpha and seeing that Scott looks unconcerned by the breach in pack etiquette he nods.

 

Scott passes the envelope wordlessly.  Isaac holds it just below his nose, blue eyes flaring to bright gold as his senses enhance with his wolf side to the fore. 

 

“It’s sandalwood.”  Isaac confirms what Derek’s own senses had recognised, surprised that the other man had known it for what it is.  That surprise is obviously apparent as Isaac shrugs and explains briefly.  “I’ve travelled a lot over the past few years…not just within Europe, but down into Turkey and the middle-east, even a few times across to Asia.  It’s quite common there.”

 

Isaac drops his hand and as the envelope fans through the air the scent that Derek has been trying so hard not to breathe in hits him hard and he starts to choke and retch, his head hurting and a strange feeling of being trapped starts to overwhelm him.

 

“Come on Derek.”  Scott grabs his arm and guides him to sit down on one of the stools that line one side of the kitchen counter as a breakfast bar, hemmed in Derek has to fight the urge to shake him off and escape reminding himself that this is his friend and Alpha.  The taste of bile sits acidly at the back of his throat.  Rubbing a trembling hand over his mouth, Derek looks into Scott’s large brown eyes seeing the transparent concern for his wellbeing that he doesn’t try to hide and the warmth of that regard helps him swallow down the bitterness.  “Are you okay?”

 

For half a second Derek thinks about fobbing Scott off, regardless of whether he can sense it’s a lie or not, but he can’t…not about this.  “No.”

 

Scott leans forward and wraps his arm around Derek’s shoulders and drags him into the comfort of scenting his Alpha’s neck.  With a shuddering sigh, Derek draws in a deep breath and then another, over and over until the sick tension that’s knotted his stomach eases and he no longer feels like he’s strangling on the scent that has increasingly become more and more disgusting each time he’s been exposed to it.

 

“What the hell is going on?”  Derek can feel Scott shake his head silently in response to Isaac’s strained question as he sucks in a few more deep breaths, letting Scott’s scent of motorbike oil, medical disinfectant and spicy peppers soothe his jangled and raw senses.

 

Much as he wants to stay where he is, he can’t and reluctantly draws away.  There’s no way he’s going to allow this person to affect him like this.   He’s not a pup to frighten at the moon’s shadow.

 

Drawing the envelope across the counter with one finger, Derek is careful to not meet Scott’s eyes as he opens the end with a razor sharp claw.  Breathing shallowly, he can sense Isaac and Scott either side of him.  The heat and weight from where his Alpha rests his hand on the top of his thigh is a comfort and after a moment’s hesitation Isaac carefully leans into his side, shoulder brushing against his.  Derek almost staggers under the rush of memories that touch brings, has to force himself to concentrate on the here and now, finds it easier when he realises that Isaac’s watching for Scott’s reaction to his movements rather than his own.  A cynical part of himself wonders if it’s simply Isaac trying to manoeuvre himself into favour while another approves of his slow, deliberate movements as an Omega touching a naturally possessive and protective Alpha’s pack mate and Second.

 

With two claw tips he delicately tugs the piece of paper out.  Scott’s hand tightens on his leg and he can feel the sharply drawn inhalation of shock from Isaac.  Slowly, Derek lets his eyes focus on the image that’s been printed on the sheet and physically feels his heart stutter in his chest.

 

It’s a photo of himself.  A photo of who he once used to be.

 

“God, you look so young.”  Scott blurts out, wincing at how it sounds, but seemingly unable to stop himself.  He does look young, Derek concedes.  The photo is an enlargement from the one in his last school year book, the school having forwarded on a copy to their New York Post Office Box and Derek had only dared to look once before tearing it to shreds.  Taken only a month before the fire, the image of himself…so young and innocent, such a dumb self-obsessed teen foolishly in love with his substitute History teacher – so cocky and sure that it had been returned.  It had been agony to see.

 

A chill rolls over him as he stares into his own eyes.  Eyes that he remembers were darker from the contacts he wore on that school photo day to reduce the involuntary flare reaction to the flash, unlike these ones.  These ones are coloured.  Photo shopped undoubtedly he thinks as he stares at the blue tint that’s been applied to them.  Wolf blue. 

 

“Fuck.”  Derek jerks and stands up shakily.  The two wolves either side of him fall back seemingly aware that he needs the space as he paces.  One hand raking through his hair as he tries to reassure himself that it’s not what it appears to mean.  Flicking glances at the abandoned sheet of paper, the blue isn’t as electric and vibrant a colour as they are in real life, his stomach knots painfully – he can’t lie to himself, there’s no words on the sheet, but the message is all too clear.   This person…his stalker has seen him with his wolf eyes. 

 

There was only a couple of times he lost control at that age and had been close to outing himself to the human population.  The first time Kate stuck her hand down the front of his pants in the school janitor’s closet…he stops that train of thought in an instant.  The others are easier to recall, hiding in the locker room for his basketball team’s final game in the play offs on the night of a full moon and more painfully when Laura as his Alpha had ordered him away, keening wildly, from the Beacon Hills Hospital Burns Unit without letting him say goodbye to the last of his pack as they left him behind – burned and alone.  All instances where his emotions had understandably gotten away from him, but whenever he’s atoned he’s always been so careful, so very careful to keep himself rigidly under control.  The only time he’d struggled was the…when he-

 

Thoughts stuttering wildly, Derek stops.  Body and mind freezing in an instant, apart from his stomach which lurches dangerously in his belly, a sea-sick roll of nausea that floods saliva into his mouth – his body preparing to retch violently.  Gritting his teeth, Derek breathes shallowly through his nose, forcing the urge to back down.

 

“Fuck.”  He scrambles to pull out his phone, searching his contacts list and pressing the number with visibly trembling hands and waits for the connection to start ringing.

 

“What is it?  What do you know?”  Scott’s eyes flicker like burning coals before flashing stark red, the protective instincts of an Alpha rising, even as Isaac’s voice pitches roughly in conjunction as he stares down at the photo with golden eyes, face taut, his mouth grim.  “Will someone tell me what the fuck is going on?”

 

“I know who it is.”  Derek says, his eyes meeting those of the two tense wolves standing in his kitchen.  “I know who the stalker is.”

 

“Stalker?”  Isaac breathes the word out on a soft huff of disbelief, before snarling loudly.  “Typical…there’s always some bullshit going on with you Derek and you drag everyone else into it like always.  You’re fucking cursed.”

 

It’s a blow, there’s no denying it.  A verbal punch that makes him wince and he can only watch on as Scott roars angrily, stalking towards Isaac demanding his submission.  The Omega cowers, face pale and lowering his eyes as he tilts his head baring his throat to the angry Alpha.

 

Derek can’t seem to swallow past the fist-sized lump that suddenly sits in his throat.  Cursed.  The accusation stings and a small part of himself wants to nod in agreement.  There’s a larger part though that lets him breathe easier and curls his mouth into a little smile at the memory of warm blue eyes and strong gentle hands.  Brushing his shoulder against Scott’s, he scent marks his pissed off friend which earns him an appreciative rumble, Derek moves around and extends his hand to the younger man crouching on the floor.  For a long moment Isaac stares and Derek doesn’t bother to scent him, the confusion and longing is all too clear on his face.  Tentatively, Isaac reaches out and slips his slender hand into Derek’s. 

 

Before he helps him up Derek leans down, grimly satisfied as the younger man flinches, his voice rich and clear with conviction.  “Not cursed.  Loved.”

 

 The words are no sooner out his mouth when Derek hears his phone connect, pulling Isaac to his feet he spins wildly to face the closed door to the loft because almost instantly he can hear a familiar song start to play from the other side.

 

Already on edge, Scott roars in challenge at the sound, ready to defend his pack mate.

 

 

John pulls out his keys ready to open the door as Jordan’s phone starts to ring, the twang of Rodney Atkins telling him what to do if he’s going through hell, echoing loudly in the hallway.  Before he can tease the heck out of his Deputy about his not so secret love of Country music a deep, guttural roar sounds from within the loft.  The roar of an enraged werewolf, followed by a series of thumps and growls.  John’s chest starts to ache from the thumping force of his heartbeat as he and Jordan draw their firearms just as the loft door slides back with a ringing clash of metal.  Derek stands in the doorway one hand holding his phone the other holding a wolfed out Scott in check, just barely keeping him from charging into the hallway.

 

“SCOTT.” Derek snaps, there’s layers to his voice that overlap and give it a forbidding, unearthly quality.  John blinks at the sound, watching as Scott shudders and his shift falls away from his features as smoothly and effortlessly as the way his fiery red eyes switch back to soulful brown in an instant.  They fill with apology as he recognises John and Jordan, the rarely seen furrow of dismay on his forehead easing when Derek’s hold on his shirtfront shifts and instead becomes a soothing sweep of his hand, leaving his scent on his Alpha.  Scott visibly relaxes, inhaling deeply.

 

There’s something kinda hot watching his boy take control.  In pack hierarchy, the ideal Second not only assists in running the pack, they are an advisor and bodyguard to their Alpha with steady, unswerving loyalty, but with the strength of will to tell their Alpha ‘No’ or ‘You’re wrong’ when the occasion demands.  That Derek is so strong and yet gives of himself so freely and willingly to John’s desires sends a curling flicker of heat low through his belly.

 

A warm flush rises to his cheeks at the pointed look that Derek gives his groin before lifting one eyebrow.  He’s grateful when Jordan moves holstering his weapon and momentarily blocks his view of his boy’s knowing little smirk, the challenge and temptation of it always riles things up in his pants.

 

“What are you doing here?  I thought you had a council meeting.”                                                                                                                                               

 

The comforting weight of his gun on his hip as he slides it back into his holster helps him refocus his thoughts away from his boy’s mouth and answer Derek’s question.  “You think I couldn’t tell by your voice on the phone it was something more than you being ‘ _caught by surprise’_.”

 

The taut line of Derek’s shoulders eases and a pleased glimmer lightens his eyes.  “You’re a busy man, didn’t want to bother you.”

 

John moves into his boy’s space, his hand finding Derek’s and lets their fingers entwine.  Leaning in close he lets his mouth brush over the rim of Derek’s ear.  “You can bother me anytime you want.”

 

Derek’s lips twitch and his fingers tighten around John’s.  “Scott wasn’t alone.”  He glances back over his shoulder towards the open doorway and John tilts his head so he can see around his boy’s broad frame to where Derek’s looking. 

 

His gut tightens and he can feel his jaw bulge almost painfully from the way his teeth have clamped together. 

 

Isaac Lahey.

 

“Did he do something…say something?”  John bites out, because so help him…if Lahey’s said or done anything to upset his boy in anyway there’s gonna be hell to pay.  “Scott doesn’t get that angry and territorial over nothing.” 

 

“Nothing to do with me, Sheriff.”  Isaac holds his hands up in the air from his place on the top step from the entrance within the loft itself.  Despite his protests of innocence there’s something in the way he watches them that’s unsettling.  He can’t put his finger on it and yet, weirdly he believes him, but there’s a longing in Isaac’s expression almost to the point of hunger as his blue eyes flicker over them narrowing intently on where John is still holding Derek’s hand.  It doesn’t feel like it’s directed at either of them in particular, more on the act itself.

 

“He’s right, he didn’t do anything.  There was another envelope waiting for me when I got back.”  John curses with a creativity that has Scott wide-eyed and Jordan searching the shadows of the landing for the perpetrator.  “I…I figured it out.”  The little hitch in Derek’s voice drags John’s attention back instantly.  “I know who it is.”

 

“You know?” 

 

Derek nods slowly almost reluctant it seems to say anymore, John squeezes his hand gently, reassuringly, letting the fury at another invasion of Derek’s privacy fade away.

 

“He was the first.” 

 

Derek ducks his head then, as though the effort to say the words aloud is too much to bear.  John leans in, straining to hear when he sees his boy’s thinned lips move, it’s little more than a whisper.  “The first atonement.”

 

Derek’s eyelids flutter closed as he draws in a ragged breath before opening them again and to John he sees into Derek’s soul as he’s sucked into those beautiful swirls of blue, green and brown that shimmer so wetly and feels Derek open the gate to their shared emotions.

 

The weight of them makes him stagger.  It’s pain and grief, defiance and anger, fear and courage, but most of all the bitter sting of regret before a wave of love and hope so powerful washes over him that John struggles to breathe at what his boy is telling him without words.

 

**_I love you.  Do you still love me after everything?_ **

 

John cups Derek’s jaw and presses their lips together in answer.  A kiss that’s so pure it hurts.

 

**_Yes._ **


End file.
